The Retrieval Job
by Wah-Keetcha
Summary: The team takes on the hardest job they’ve ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn to, when it’s your Retrieval Specialist that’s in need of rescuing?
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **This idea came to me after "The Zanzibar Marketplace Job", so I decided to run with it. I am going to try and keep this fiction on a schedule of updates every Sunday, but as those who have read my other stories, things do come up where I'm unable to write or post. At the moment my ideas are flowing and I have the time to write (currently without my weekend job) and need something to do. So, please review and enjoy the ride!

* * *

**Chapter 1: **Absence

Retrieval Specialists aren't like other thieves. Yes, they take items that do not belong to them by means of treachery or force. But, unlike most thieves Specialists don't steal for a personal pleasure or gain, no, they are hired by clients to perform a service. Depending on the money a Retrieval Specialist will repossess any item from people to merchandise in any part of the world.

If the money is good enough.

For people like Eliot Spencer, whose reputation is well known throughout the crime world as being nearly unstoppable in his missions the money is awfully good. Knowing that he can't keep the team from reverting back to their old habits Nate just asked them to limit their heists, preferably to cities the team isn't operating out of and to be available when a job comes in. When a side job comes up and one –or more- of the team disappears for a weekend Nate doesn't ask questions and when the news report comes out about a priceless item being nicked, Nate turns a blind eye. The arrangement worked for Hardison who could commit his transgressions from behind a computer screen and for both Parker and Sophie who were use to traveling for their heists but always has a house or two around for them to return too.

For Eliot though, staying in one city for longer than several days was a difficult thing to get use too. Specialists are always on the move, rarely ever staying stationary in a single place for more than a few weeks. It was a life that suited the long haired Specialist, the traveling and moving. Nate watched as the hitter became increasingly restless, the tension building as the realization of what _staying_ truly entailed. So, when Eliot left him a message saying he'd be back in a few days on his phone the Mastermind didn't think anything of it and hoped that when the other man returned he'd be settled down and relaxed.

A few days passed without incident, Parker returned from her own 'trip' filled with excitement while Tara smiled into her coffee cup at Nate's innocent inquiry of her weekend while Hardison listened to Parker's weekend exploits, spoken in hushed voice from his couch. Monday is the day when Nate would pull out whatever files he had on those who need their help and go over their stories with the team. Everyone had arrived and was waiting, coffee cups in hand as Parker slurps away happily on a bowl of Cheerios. Nate glances around the apartment, noticing for the first time that Eliot wasn't anywhere to be seen, his usual cup still sitting in the strainer beside the sink.

"Anyone seen Eliot?" He asks, suddenly concerned at the man's absence. Nate will be the first to tell you that Eliot can be a stealthy person when he wants to be, his steps absolutely silent on the hardwood floor but to refrain from giving Parker anymore near heart attacks he always announces himself.

"Maybe he's late?" Tara offers but Nate shakes his head.

"Eliot's never late." He retorts, pulling out his phone to see if he'd somehow missed a message from the hitter. Finding nothing recent that Mastermind turns to look at Hardison.

"Was any of his alias' flagged at any of the airports recently?" he asks and within a second Hardison's fingers are flying over the keys of his laptop, filling the room with the usual clacking sound.

"Wait? 'Airports', he was running a job?" Tara asks, shock lining her voice as she stares at Nate and then Parker. Parker shrugs and moves the bowl to her lips, drinking the milk before responding.

"What? He's not allowed to have a few side jobs?" she asks, shooting the blond grifter a strange look before uncurling herself from the couch and heading towards the kitchen. Tara stares after the thief for a moment before turning to look back at Nate.

"Well, where'd he go? What type of job was it?" she asks and Nate can only lift his shoulders and shake his head.

"I don't know. I don't ask about any of the jobs you guys do on your off time. He followed my request and took it out of town. I was surprised he even called me, usually he'll just take off and then show up on Monday." He states, suddenly angry at himself for having not wondered at the fact that Eliot had actually _called_ him.

"I'd say he took it way out of town. Nothing on the alias' I made up for him and no hits on any of the accounts I know of." Hardison explains with an air of frustration. Nate nods to himself, pacing for a few minutes.

"Well, yeah. We have to assume Eliot has other alias' and other means of paying for things, and the fact that he's not using anything that can be linked back to the team or Boston, we can only assume it was something he didn't want dropped on our doorstep if it went south." His words seem to hit home with both Parker and Hardison, the two sharing a look while Tara huffed.

"We don't know anything yet. He could be perfectly fine, just late because his plane or armored truck were late." She states, downplaying the severity of the situation. Nate shoots the blond grifter an annoyed look before pointing at Hardison.

"Call up any new thefts or security breeches in the last three days. Anything." He states and quickly moves into the next room, his fingers flying through files in search of anything that might help, any recent jobs that might have a name Eliot could have recognized and wanted to take on himself.

"NATE!" Parker shouts, jolting the man out of his search, alarmed at the young woman's uncharacteristically displayed urgency. Moving quickly, half expecting to see a bleeding and broken hitter at the door Nate practically slides into the other room, fingers clutched to the door frame.

"Nate, I just got this as an update from one of my… formers…" she trails off, unsure of how to name her contacts before snapping back to attention with the one thing that could stop Nate's blood cold.

"Eliot's in trouble." Sophie's voice states from the TV monolith on the wall, her eyes wide with worry and wet with unshed tears. Nate gapes at the woman, his mind racing to come up with something to say when she holds up her Iphone to the video screen, showing the ghastly video she'd been sent.

"Hardison!" Nate practically shouts and the Hacker moves quickly, adjusting the volume so they can all hear what's going on in the video playing on the other's phone.

"_So, you thought you could get away with stealing from me a second time hmm?" _the thickly accent voice states as a shadow moves in a circle around the hitter, his body forced into a squatting position, a board thrust between his bound arms. Eliot's head was down, hair hiding his face from the camera's view but judging from the shallow breathing and trembling Eliot had been held in that position for a while.

"_Let me show you what I do to those who steal from me." _The man gestures to another out of range of the camera and within moments a large bruiser steps into frame, his large fists clad in thick knuckle dusters. With a mighty swing the beater brings his metal clad fist down into Eliot's exposed shoulder blades, driving a curse out of the bound man, his body rocking. More blows fall and within moments Eliot is crying out, his voice hoarse as his body trembles under the abuse.

"_Now, for two nights only I will be taking bids on whoever would like to take Mr. Spencer home with them. Of course this is a live auction only, no wire transfers accepted. You know how to contact me if your interested in… owning your own payback. I know this bastard has stolen from many of you… here's your chance."_ The accented voice states smartly before the screen fades to black. The phone is pulled back from the screen, revealing Sophie's trembling lips and the slight runs in her make up. The gathered criminals are silent, their thoughts all their own as they each process what just happened.

Nate recovers first, his voice shaking a bit but his eyes hard.

"Sophie… how do you get into contact with this _bastard_?" he asks and the woman sniffles, running a hand over both of her eyes in an effort to compose herself. It was a rough thing to see for all of them, having grown attached to the hitter.

"I have to return with an interested answer to my contact and buy into the auction." Her voice trembles for a moment but with a deep breath she's able to continue. "It's a one million dollar buy in, then the auction goes up from there." She informs.

"Alright, who is this guy? The guy holding Eliot?" Nate asks, already pulling out several bank slips and various boxes containing the 'emergency' fund.

" Altan Celik, he's a big playing in the Turkish Black Market. Deals mostly in fine arts and ancient artifacts." Sophie states.

"And now, human trafficking." Nate supplies. Parker has joined him in the search for remaining money while Hardison's hands fly over the keys. Tara is on her phone, speaking in rapid fire Turkish.

"Sophie… we're going to need you on this one." Nate informs the woman, stopping his search and coming to stand before the screen, his eyes pleading. Sophie nods, her jaw tightening at the request as her lips tremble.

"Of course. Eliot is my friend too Nate, I can't just abandon him because of my need for space. Come to London, the sale date doesn't take place until Friday, plenty of time to scope things out and plan." She states and Nate nods, moving away when her words catch him, making him and the others stop.

"A fault proof plan… or else we'll never see him again." She says softly before signing off, leaving the wall black. The mood in the apartment is somber as the thieves inside take in the Grifter's words.

"We're not going to let that happen." Nate states, tone hard as he glances around at the three criminals he's come to regard as family in a strange way. Hardison seems to take strength and beings booking flights and making arrangements while Parker rushes to gather her gear. Tara concludes her call and quickly hands Hardison whatever information she could get from her contacts.

Nate swallows thickly against the bile in his throat and pushes aside his emotional attachment, knowing it won't help Eliot at the moment. Turning quickly the Mastermind grabs his keys and takes Tara's arm as the woman walks past, heading to help Parker sort through her gear.

"C'mon." he states, leaving no room for argument.

"We'll be back, going to Eliot's to see if I can figure out what he was going after and for who." He states offhandedly and slams the apartment door. Tara follows silently and within minutes Nate's easing his car out into the Monday afternoon Boston traffic, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

* * *

**Author Note:** I will try and update again this Sunday, but no promises since this is being posted on Friday. Please review and tell me if you like it or if I should scrap it.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **Chapter 2, as promised. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and Alerted this story, it amazes me how many messages I have when I check my mail when I come in at night from work. Responses to the chapters will be available on my LiveJournal page on the day the new chapter is posted. (so, today, any responses to chapter 1 will be available).

You guys would have had this chapter earlier in the day, but I went to the Martina McBride Shine On concert last night (Saturday) and didn't get home till wicked late. But, it's here now! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2: **Paper

"This is where Eliot lives?" Tara asks as Nate pulls into the parking facility for Eliot's building. A white brick building located on Tremont Street wasn't what Tara was picturing for Eliot's home but as Nate climbs out of the car the Grifter realizes now isn't the time to make inquiries about the Hitter's living arrangements.

"What floor?" she asks as they enter the elevator and Nate glances at the number pad.

"Top." With a roll of her eyes the Grifter taps the topmost floor and within minutes they're waiting for the doors to open. The silence inside the lift is excruciating, filled with unasked questions and doubts. Tara fidgets and watches the numbers rise irritably, not wanting to give into the temptation to ask her burning questions.

"What are we looking for?" she finally blurts, not able to stand the silence any longer. Nate fixes her with a slightly bemused look before settling back against the polished steel wall, his arms folded.

"Every Retrieval Specialist has a register of the jobs they've taken, their status and any side notes on their clients or the job itself. It's something every one of them has and it's a vital part of their business." He states as the doors ding open, revealing an older Asian couple waiting for the lift. Tara glances at the numbers and quickly follows Nate out, aware of his exchange in pleasantries with the couple.

"Nice to see you again Mr. Ford, we haven't seen Mr. Wyman for a while I hope he is well?" the man inquires and Nate quickly supplies him with a complete bogus answer.

"Oh yes, Cam is doing fine. He's away on business for my office and asked me to stop in and feed his plants every now and again. I will tell him you were concerned when he calls next though." He smiles easily, the lie dripping off his tongue easily. The older man smiles happily and waves as the doors close.

"Lying to the neighbors now?" Tara snarks as she follows Nate down to the end of the corridor and watches as the Mastermind punches in a security code. The door buzzes and unlocks with a mechanical thud.

"Come on, before anyone else stops us." He states, shoving the thick door open and rushing Tara through. Tara glances at the vacant stairwell, the air cool and damp within the concrete stairwell.

"He lives in the stairway?" she asks, a hint of humor edging in her voice but Nate ignores it, instead starting to climb the metal and concrete stairs, his footfalls echoing off the walls. Tara climbs up after him, aware that there is more to the Hitter than she originally thought.

"Alright, do you pick locks?" Nate asks, slightly out of breath from the three flight climb. Tara stops beside him and rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, 'cause I totally carry lock picks on me." She snaps but pulls out three bobby pins and a paper clip from her purse, quickly bending the metal into the shape needed to pick the lock. It takes the Grifter a few minutes but she finally is rewarded with the soft _click_ and is narrowly ploughed over in Nate's haste to get inside. With an angry glare the woman quickly follows, closing and locking the thick wooden door firmly behind her.

"Wow.." Tara breathes as she steps further into the studio type apartment, moving around the thick wooden beam and into the large living space. The sound of her heels on the dark but highly polished wooden floor echoes slightly in the large space as the woman moves through the room, taking in the vast apartment.

And the lack of things in it.

To say Eliot Spencer had plenty of space and very few items to occupy that space would be an understatement. Everything in the living room-excluding the furniture- could be packed up in a rucksack and quickly moved. A few training mats cover the hard floor in the corner and a punching bag sits suspended from the main ceiling beam. The apartment is bright and for all appearances well taken care of but to Tara it doesn't feel like 'home'. It's more of a 'place' or a 'refuge' than a home.

"If I was Eliot where would I put it?" Nate's voice echoes through the apartment, his heavy footfalls making it easy for the woman to track his progress. Glancing around Tara finds a stack of paperwork and writing utensils on the bar separating the living area from the kitchen.

"Find anything?" Nate calls as he moves quickly up the steps to the loft area as Tara browses through the bills and gives a huff, not liking intruding on the long haired man's privacy.

"What makes you think he keeps it here anyway? I have to admit, if I were him I'd put it in a safe or something." She states, moving around the living area. Her heels click across the small throw run under a used coffee table, some cup ring stains etched into the surface. Tara frowns, bring one manicured nail to tap on the lacquered rough board. Barely visible lines bisect the natural rings of the wood, thin and perfect and only visible when the light hits the wood top _just right_.

"Nate, I think I found his hiding spot." Tara calls and moments later Nate's footfalls fill the silent apartment. Crouching down Tara runs her fingers over the edge of the table, trying to find a catch of some kind. Nate quickly takes up the search on the other side having picked up on her search.

"Ah, got it." Nate states, his fingers fumbling under the top as he nods his head for Tara to lift her side. The section of wood moves silently and reveals a carved indention containing numerous passports, documents and one leather bound book. Nate lifts the register out of the table and quickly thumbs through the entries as Tara watches. The leather covering the book is old and worn but the pages are fairly new and stained considerably with grime and dried stains that look like old blood.

"So, that's a Retrieval register?" Tara asks, suddenly unnerved by the other man's expression changed rapidly as he flips through the entries, stopping to fully read one of them. Blue eyes skirt over to look at her, their depths filled with worry and fear. In an instant those emotions are replaced with the intellectual chill that means the man is thinking, analyzing and plotting.

"Yeah. C'mon let's get out of here." He states absently and quickly heads for the door. Tara replaces some of the fine paperwork and is about to replace the lid when a phone number catches her eye. Glancing briefly to where Nate is still flipping through the book, waiting by the door she quickly grabs the number, written in Eliot's cramped by legible scrawl.

"Good?" Nate asks and Tara nods, slipping the paper into her pocket. Casting one more glance around the large apartment the Grifter slips out behind Nate, locking the thick wooden door behind her.

By the time Nate and Tara returned to his apartment Hardison and Parker had managed to pack up all the gear they would need to take with them and were having a steady conversation with Sophie.

"Why doesn't Eliot just… ya know?" Parker asks, making a few exaggerated moved with her arms, causing Hardison to duck away from the blond thief's movements, his glare going unnoticed. Sophie shakes her head sadly, having been the first to see the footage she'd already drawn her conclusions about why the fighter hadn't used his skills to fight back, they were fairly obvious.

He had fought, with everything he had.

And still was taken down.

"Did you see the position they had him in Parker?" Nate asks, opening the duffle one of them had packed for him and going quickly through it, just to be sure nothing important was missing. The blond throws him a quizzical look before exhaling loudly, ruffling her bangs and crossing her arms.

"Yes. But Eliot can get out of anything…" she trails off and for the first time Nate can see the true worry lurking beneath the mask Parker wears. The older man tries to give her a reassuring look but fails, instead launching into why the specialist wouldn't be able to get out of that particular situation.

"It's a stress position, used as a method of torture and containment. See, Celik knows Eliot is a dangerous person to handle and can slip out of just about any kind of restraint if he wants too. Put someone in a stress position, it cuts down on a prisoner's ability to escape due to cutting off mobility to key joints. It's also meant to cause humility and pain, both as a psychological and physical torture." He finishes, noting the looks of horror on both Hardison and Parker's faces. Tara leans against the bar, her head down and waits patiently, unsure if she should interfere as Sophie wipes at her eyes.

"But he's… he's a strong guy right? I mean, he took down five guys on the first job, took the beating in Utah…" Parker states, pony tail whipping wildly as she looks from Sophie to Nate and then Hardison, her expression lost.

"Yes Parker, he's strong physically, mentally is another matter. None of us know what he's been through before teaming up with you…" Tara trails off, finding the scathing look from Nate enough to silence her. Parker blinks and quickly walks away, finding a bag of repelling gear to busy herself with, her back turned to the others.

"Hardison, how's the travel arrangements?" Nate asks after a moment of awkward silence, the group taken aback by the rare emotion the blond thief just displayed. It takes a moment for the Hacker to respond but once his mind is focused he launches right into it, mind brought back into task.

"Uh.. yeah. We're heading out to London on a red-eye, quickest one I could get out of Logan." Nate nods and rezips his bag. "Alright, when does that leave?"

"Our flight leaves at ten tonight, which will put us into London at eight tomorrow our time… so add on the four hour time difference… around noon." Hardison rattles off as he quickly snaps the laptop closed and packs it away into his bag.

"I'll be there to meet you guys." Sophie declares and Nate nods his thanks. With a wave Sophie disconnects, leaving the team standing in silence.

"Alright, get what you need from your place. Meet back here in an hour." Nate orders and Tara quickly moves towards the door. Parker and Hardison stay behind, having already packed all that they'd need for the trip over to the UK. Closing the door behind her Tara breathes a sigh and heads down the steps to the parking garage, her fingers fumbling nervously with her phone.

Inside her pocket the slip of paper brushes against her leg.

* * *

**Author Note:** I really hope my math was right with the whole US to London thing… figure this: If the plane leaves Logan International Airport at 10:00 pm and it's a 10 hour flight (they hit a wicked good tail wind on the way) that would put them into London at 8 am our time, but London is 4 hours ahead of us, so roughly they'd arrive at Noon.

I hope that makes sense (and is right).

Hmm.. never was very good at those types of problems. Anyway! Update will be next Sunday, so please drop me a review and tell me what ya think!


	3. Chapter 3

****

Title

: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **Chapter 3 is being posted early due to my working on a website this weekend, trying to finalize it so I can get it up and get paid. So, there won't be an update on Sunday, because this is Sunday's update. Does that make sense? Believe it or not, I do not write for reviews (although they are appreciated and are like crack to an author) I write simply because I enjoy it and I like being able to give people something to read, so no, I will not be taking this story hostage for a certain number of reviews. Personally I think that's a stupid move, but that's just me.

And I'm weird.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Celik**

"Ah, Mr. Spencer… I hope your finding your accommodations pleasing." Bright blue eyes snap open as the cultured question is asked, the tap of heels stopping out in front of his stone prison. Celik, dressed in his best clothing stares down at the crouched specialist, his neatly manicured beard and finely combed hair so out of place in such a dank, dreary area like the basement of his home.

"Oh yeah, top notch. Give you credit for the damp, slick stone floor. New?" Eliot snarks back, voice raspy and uneven from lack of use. Neck muscles twitch as the man tries to keep his eyes locked on those of his captor, straining to not show how weary his body has become. His chest heaves at the exertion, lungs unable to expand properly against his thighs and finally the man is forced to drop his head, long hair shielding his face from view.

A laugh echoes off the walls of the tiny prison, cultured but tinted with malice.

Eliot shivers despite himself.

"Can I, or my men get anything for you?" he teases, a sadistic smile coming to his features as he watches the strong, proud man shake and twitch from the muscle cramps caused by his position. Celik can't help but feel a flash of pride at the sight, his ability to reduce the great Eliot Spencer to a pile of jerking muscle and anger.

It's delicious sight.

"Actually…. I need ta piss. A-an' my nose i-itch-es." The words are strained as the captive tries to breath against his own body weight and Celik's pride jumps up another notch at his brilliance in choosing that particular stress position for his most hated enemy.

"Well, we can't be having you ruining your… wardrobe." Celik states and with a flick of his wrist the four bruisers he'd hired on move towards the restrained specialist. Celik did enough research to know that after spending almost two days in the stress position Spencer's muscles had tighten and stiff with swelling, making it difficult for the man to move with his usual speed and grace.

Oh, and it's _agonizing_ once the captive is released from the position.

"Now, I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to try anything." Celik smirks as the board is removed from between the fighter's bent and handcuffed arms, earning a wince and a curse from the other man. Soon as his hands are released the burly arms fall to the side and with a growling cry as one of the bruisers shove him to the ground, the muscles in Eliot's body shuddering and twitching uncontrollably. Celik steps into the small cell, rolling his sleeve up on his immaculate suite. The bruisers tense around him as the Turkish man kneels beside the twitching fighter and deftly finishes rolling up his sleeve, revealing the prosthetic hand. Eliot's eyes widen a fraction, showing Celik his shock and then narrow, trying to cover the motion.

"Oh, didn't realize it did you?" Celik smiles coyly, reaching out with his mechanical fingers to brush the tips against the specialists' face, causing the man to jerk away with a growl, his blue eyes wide and unsure.

"When you… maimed my hand at our last encounter I ended up loosing it. It took a while, but eventually I found a replacement. Isn't it marvelous? So much like a real hand that with a glove on no one knows the difference." Celik states, staring at the robotic arm in fascination as he moves each digit, tapping out a rhythm on the side of his captive's face, drawing another growl from his detainee.

"Regardless of the brilliance of this new hand though, my life has been altered, how do you say? Drastically. I'm sure you know the business my father built collapsed into ruin after your little _stunt_. Poor man, he was _furious_." Celik grins, trying to hold back the giggle threatening to cut loose. Eliot narrows his gaze and licks his lips, mind racing.

"Last I heard… your daddy died of a heart attack, three years ago." he rasps, coughing as his breath catches in a too dry throat. Celik's grin only widens as the prosthetic hand pats on the side of Eliot's face, very close to his eye which he closes quickly.

"It's so easy these days to induce a heart attack, and father was always a drinker." He states simply with an emotionless tone. Eliot's heart gives a jerk at the thought but dismisses it, having already known Celik was a complete psychopath.

"Now, because of the collapse of my father's enterprise and the cost of this new hand I have found myself suspiciously in the red, funding wise. I've spoken with some people- whom you also stole from or caused harm too- and have learned exactly what people will pay to have you delivered to them… Rejoice my friend, you will single handedly bring back my hand and status within my father's Black Market legacy." Celik beams happily. Eliot just shakes his head with a gritty laugh, causing the Turkish man to draw his slim eyebrows together in annoyance.

"And what, may I ask is so funny Mr. Spencer?" he growls in annoyance. Eliot's chuckles dissolve into a threatening tone, his expression changing rapidly.

"When I get out- 'cause I _will_ get out- you're the first man I'm commin' to see Celik. And I'll kill ya." He adds, the threat finalized with the famous glare of the icy, dead eyes Celik remembers from his first encounter. He knows and has seen what the smaller American can do but finds himself strongly at ease knowing that he's got the upper hand.

"Of course you will. But for now…" he pats the man's face and stands. The bruisers watch him hopefully and with a slight nod of his head Celik walks from the cell, his human fingers working quickly to pull down the cuff of his sleeve. Humming softly to himself he can't help but smile as the sound of flesh meeting flesh, grunts and gasps slowly becomes his most loved tune.

* * *

Nate was leaning cornered in his first class seat, one hand absently tapping on the class containing his Jack and Coke while his eyes scan the battered register of the Retrieval Specialist. Only two hours into the flight to London and the former insurance agent is glad Hardison and Parker are sitting three rows up from him, aware that he always can't shield the horror of the entries from being seen. During his days as an IYS agent he'd spent _months_ profiling and chasing the then twenty-five year old specialist. When Nate had finally caught up with him he watched as the young man took down several hired thugs in order to retrieve a valuable item, without breaking a sweat in a matter of minutes.

"Either Eliot is a horrible writer, or those entries are as ghastly as I think they are." Tara states, dropping into the seat beside the Mastermind causing Nate's attention to shift from the ledger for the first time in over an hour. Nate blinks his tired eyes and fixes the Grifter with an unreadable look. Wordlessly he flips the book around, showing the blond woman two of the pages from an entry dated back to before the job that began his team.

"Day four: Status is unchanged, hostages still being held. Third floor, eight rooms down narrow corridor. Five guards on a two hour rotation, class R lock, pickable in three minutes." She reads off, her eyebrows drawn into a frown. Nate smiles humorously at the woman who could decipher complex code and speak numerous languages inability to comprehend Eliot's simple, basic log.

"Day seven: water is running dangerously low, food gone. Precious cargo –male- near expiration, wounds to lower back infected. Precious cargo –female- weak and dehydrated. Wounds still bleeding, bullet to left shoulder removed but infected. Fever. Rendezvous point 1 day away, E 62 by S 5." Nate is about to clarify the meaning of the entries but the woman continues, her eyes widening as she reads off each word.

"Day eight: precious cargo-male- expired overnight. Precious cargo-female- unresponsive. Made it to Rendezvous at sundown. Awaiting pickup. Fever, red lines from bullet wound, heat exhaustion and dehydration." Once concluded the woman deflates into herself.

"The items he stole-"

"Retrived." Nate corrects lightly.

"_Retrieved_ were actually human beings?" Tara breathes and hands back the beaten register, her fingers numb at the thought of having to smuggle _people_ instead of paintings or money.

"Day 15: Mission partially successful. Paid half the agreed price for the return of the cargo due to the expiration of one. Medical care taken care of, estimated rehabilitation time 4 months. Return to states, go black." Nate reads off the cryptic notations, his words frozen. Tara raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, conveying her shock to the man.

"Eliot, is _very_ good at what he does. He's taken jobs from heads of countries to retrieve not only items but people who were being held hostage. He's been a hired bodyguard for a number of nationals and a black market contact for many more. Out of us all he has hundreds of contacts and probably a lot more enemies." Nate explains, sipping idly at his rapidly warming Jack and Coke as the woman puzzles over the revelation that Eliot has more in the shadows than he's willing to show.

"Go black?" she prompts and Nate nods to himself, swishing the mix around in his mouth for a moment.

"For a Retrieval Specialist the term 'go black' means that they're off the grid for a while, not open for jobs and they disappear, only to show back up a couple of months-sometimes a year- later, ready for work again. In Eliot's case, he went black due to injury that was in need to healing and rehabilitating." Nate deftly explains and flips further back in time, his eyes scanning the cramped scrawl.

"Ah, found him." Nate states and Tara leans over to read the passage regarding the man who is currently holding Eliot.

_Job: artifact for Turkish government. _

_Location: Celik estate, Diyarbakir _

_Up front: 40,000_

_Upon delivery: 80,000 – rest to be wired. _

_Notes: artifact retained through illegal purchase on BM, kept in private office of Tahir Celik, head of one of the largest shipyards in Turkey, collector of fine art and antiquities. Counted 20 guards, eight hour rotations. _

"This is Tahir, not Altan." Tara says, stating the obvious. At Nate's grim expression the Grifter leans back in her seat, away from the book.

"Altan is most likely the son or relative. Must have had a run in with Eliot." Nate muses, his expression sour as he works through his thoughts. From what Hardison was able to pull up before leaving the ground Altan Celik isn't a nice person. After his father's 'heart attack' the name of Celik went from being connected with fine ships and boats to strictly Black Market dealings, very hush-hush.

"Whatever Eliot did to him… he wasn't revenge and what's a better way of getting it than letting his enemies tear him apart." Nate states his thoughts, sipping off his drink and closing the book. Tara's at a loss for words, since she doesn't know the specialist all that well –considering they've only worked together for three months- and because he's overly private, allowing nothing to drag or hang in the wind about himself.

"Did you know he sings?" Nate suddenly blurts and it takes a moment for the Grifter to process his words, blinking stupidly while the Mastermind sips from his cup like he never said anything.

"Uh.. no? Interesting." Tara stumbles and shifts in her seat, becoming uncomfortable.

"Yeah, he left early a few nights and when Hardison tracked him we found him in an old dive in Southie, strumming along on a guitar and singing. We stayed and watched him play the set before hightailing it out of there, not wanting him to see us." Tara nods, seeing the logic behind the tactful retreat.

"How'd Hardison keep it under wraps?" she asks, suddenly curious since watching how the two men constantly ribbed and goaded one another while on jobs and around the bar. He holds everyone at arms length though, never too close to harm but close enough for him to keep an eye on.

"Oh, it was hard at first. Then I showed him a report I had on a job Eliot did in which he took down five guys with just tweezers. Shut him up fairly quickly." Nate smiles devilishly and Tara's eyes widen a fraction but a tense smile graces her features.

"You're worried about him." She states and for a moment Nate looks about ready to dispel the claim, bluff it away as the stress of the situation.

But he can't.

Because it's true.

"Eliot has risked his life numerous times for me-us-the team." He stumbles over the words before clearing his throat. Tara waits patiently.

"I just think I owe this too him, to not allow him to be sold off like a piece of art at some auction. I was the one that kept him around, brought him into the team –something he often protested… I just feel responsible for taking him out of his usual habits and making him stationary… forcing him to take side jobs just to feel _normal_." He states, voice cracking slightly

"Eliot would have gone off and done the job regardless. The only difference is that he's got us to get him out." Parker's cool response makes both Tara and Nate jerk in their seats. Parker's leaning over the backs of the chairs in front of them, her long arms moving absently as she stares at Nate, her chin resting on the backrest. Hardison is leaning over the seats looking serious and drawn.

"Look it man. We know what's been going on with you –the drinking and all- and in Eliot's place I think I should say it. In order to get him out and back with us… you need a clear head." He states sternly and Nate is shocked into silence, his eyes trailing slowly down to the half empty glass of Jack and Coke and then back up to Hardison and over to Parker. With a nod he hands the glass over to the Hacker, his fingers trembling a bit but his jaw set firmly.

He was going to get Eliot out and back safe.

Then he and the Hitter were going to share a drink.

And that'll be the end of it.

* * *

Author Note: First meeting with Celik. I personally love him as a bad guy, writing his description was fun for me. The hand, the hand is an actual thing, it's called and iLimb and it's pretty freaking cool. Look it up if you don't believe me. Update coming again next Sunday, if you deem it worthy send me a review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **The stories I write don't have a set timeline for completion, mostly because my stories aren't ever _planned_. I have an idea, put it into words and run with it, updating when I can. Often times the real world situations I deal with on a day to day basis get in the way (like this week, wasn't in work for 3 days due to kidney issues). Also, at the end of March I'll be working my second job again so my time to write will be strictly limited.

And that was a very round about answer so, here it is totally unsugar coated: I don't know when this will be finished, it'll be done when it's done. There aren't a set number of chapters or a set amount of time, so your guess is as good as mine for when it is completed.

Hopefully that answered your question. If it didn't feel free to message me, I'll usually respond around midnight when I get home from work. If I don't it's because my email provider is acting wicked stupid and filtering FF things into the spam (it's not checked as spam) so… yeah.

Onto the 4th chapter!

Oh, I also know how the season ends –seen The Maltese Falcon Job- so I'm going to _try_ not to put any spoilers. If I do I apologize.

**Chapter 4: 'Cause we ain't crazy… or nuthin' **

Orange Soda – check.

Gummy Frogs – check.

Various padlocks – check.

Johnnie Walker's Black Label – check.

Sophie mentally completes the list in her head and tries to not fiddle with her phone as she waits by the baggage claim. Dozens of people move around her as the Grifter scans the crowd for Parker's bring blond hair or even Hardison's voice over the tiring chatter of other airport patrons. Irritably the woman taps the heel of her shoe against the shined tile flooring, anxiety making her stomach turn into knots.

"Sophie!" Her name being called makes the woman whip around in surprise as Parker blurs in front of her, a large smile plastered on the young thief's face as she practically bounces in excitement. For a moment Sophie can't say anything, her mouth opening and closing dumbly until finally Parker pulls the other woman into a tight hug.

"I've missed you!" she cries and quickly releases the shocked Grifter and for a moment she watches as Parker stands beside a grinning Hardison, his lap top bag slung over one shoulder and Parker's small bag in his hand.

"Parker.." Sophie drifts off as the blond thief cocks her head to the side slightly and gives her a blank look. Sophie nods to herself, back to business as usual then. Nate greets her with an awkward wave, his expression sour and serious as Tara quickly pushes past him to throw her arms around her.

"Thank you for sticking around for this one Tara." Sophie says softly into the other Grifter's ear and for a moment Tara tightens and finally relaxes, pulling away slightly.

"Like I said, Eliot's a professional and so am I, besides- he trusted me Sophie I wouldn't be able to just walk away knowing the situation he's in." she states and Sophie nods, resisting the urge to wipe at her eyes.

"Just so you know then… after this, we're even. Got it?" Sophie states and Tara nods before stepping away.

"So…" she starts but Nate quickly interrupts and gestures towards the exit.

"Do we have a place to set up?" all business. Sophie knows she shouldn't but for a moment she can't help but feel a little _offended_ by the man's lack of class. Then again, the team isn't here under good terms, they're here and back together to rescue one of their own. Screwing up her nerve and squaring her jaw Sophie nods and quickly takes the lead, bringing the group out onto the landing area where the car she had hired is waiting. With a wave of her hand the sleek black Lincoln Town Car quickly pulls to the curb, the bellhop trotting around to open the back passenger door and then quickly opens the trunk and begins storing the luggage. As Tara, Hardison and Parker slide into the backsets –their bickering on who sits where being drowned about by the traffic- Sophie waits for her keys to be returned.

"It's good to see you again." Nate says softly as he moves past her and opens the passenger door, already with the keys in hand. Sophie rolls her eyes but quickly moves to take him up on the silent offer.

"Too bad it's not under better circumstances." She states, a cold edge to her words. Nate blinks for a moment, stunned by the chilly edge but brushes it off, tips the bellhop and quickly pulls the car out into traffic, the interior of the car filled with questions and conversation, minus the driver and the passenger.

There are simply no words.

Sophie's condo is located in Camden on a small side road surrounded by gardens and older homes. Once parked and the luggage removed and distributed to their owners the group of thieves quickly make their way up to the Grifter's third floor condo. Sophie fumbles with her keys for a minute before finally pushing the door open and inviting her friends in. Parker quickly drops her bag by the couch and trots off to explore the airy and spacious apartment, her eyes wide as she leans into each bedroom and opens every closet door. Hardison quickly seats himself on the beige couch and pulls out his laptop and European plug adapter.

"Very nice. Reminds me of the place you had in France that time." Tara states, walking around and admiring the vaulted ceiling and the view out of the double French doors, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans. Nate glances around as Sophie starts to make coffee, sure the team will need a pick me up before beginning their plans.

"There's two guest bedrooms, you guys can fight over who gets what. I also went and bought two air mattresses." Sophie states, moving down the hallway with the bedrooms, hunting for Parker who'd been out of her sight for too long as she goes only to find the young woman standing in her bedroom, long fingers brushing over one of Sophie's framed photographs.

"Parker?" Sophie questions, stepping closer to see what had caught her attention. On the squat Queen Ann styled dressing table sits many framed photographs, mostly of placed Sophie had visited with the occasional person or persons mixed in. The carved frame that holds the thief's attention stands out amongst the polished silver and metal of her other frames just as much as the photograph it contains.

"This was Hardison's birthday. Remember? We all were at Nate's and Eliot cooked a big meal and I helped him make the cake?" Parker states innocently, her eyes lost as she stares at the picture. Sophie smiles at the memory, finding the whole incident that caused the photograph to be taken. The group of thieves was gathered around the table in Nate's apartment, in various stages of conversation or laughter. Eliot and Parker are covered in flour and icing, blue and orange contrasting with Parker's bright blond and Eliot's dark brown. Nate's finger is halfway to his mouth, dripping with icing he'd swiped from the cake while Hardison sits at the other end wearing the night vision goggles Parker had given him, covered in silly string –yet another gift from Parker. Sophie herself was reclined in her chair, pointing at Hardison and laughing.

It's a happy memory, one worth framing and keeping.

"Wh-what if we can't make any more photos like this? I mean… what if we don't get him back?" Parker asks softly, her fingers brushing over the frozen image of the hitter. For a moment Sophie can't speak, amazed at Parker's attachment to the man who would growl and snarl and ask what's wrong with her. Her eyes begin to sting as tears swell foreword at the thought.

No!

Grabbing Parker's slim shoulders Sophie spins the younger woman to face her, her jaw set sternly as Parker clutches at the hand carved frame.

"We're not going to let that happen alright? We're going to get Eliot back and we'll have even more memories like this one. Got that?" she states, amazed at the conviction in her own voice. Parker seems startled for a minute, eyes wide and mouth slightly open before a sly smirk begins to reveal itself.

"I knew you weren't going to stay gone Sophie. You couldn't leave us, we're a family now." Parker states blankly before handing the photo back to Sophie and bouncing out of the room, leaving the Grifter to clutch at the picture, her eyes drawn to the frozen faces of the rag tag team. Her fingers rub the strong and rough surface of the carved frame, a gift from the Hitter for the first Christmas they spent together – before the betrayal. Sophie's lips tremble for a moment at the guarded, almost _frightened_ look in Eliot's eyes when he handed her the simple white box. At the time she didn't understand the gesture, but now she does. Unknown to them, they'd developed a working –a bit dysfunctional- family and Eliot trusted her enough to let her in, to consider her something other than another thief.

"Soph!" Nate calls from the living area, jolting the woman out of her thoughts. Gently she sets the frame back into it's place and glances at herself in the mirror before putting on her best face before heading back to the living room, finding her flat screen acting as the one monitor TV monolith.

"Alright Hardison. Run it." Nate orders.

**Author Note: **Yes, this is a short chapter. I'll update again next Sunday or even this Monday-since I have it off- so if you would be so kind as to hit that review button, I'd be very grateful.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **Chapter 5 is being given to you late Sunday night as a 'gift chapter' for Valentines day. Dunno how the torture of Eliot is in anyway a good Valentine, but since I am a sadistic person, its good enough for me. I've built Leverage SIMS –modded the hell out of my game- and was trying to build their house when low and behold I can't put a 2nd level on or add interior stairs – wtf?- So I got annoyed and decided to take my frustrations out on Eliot.

Happy Valentines Day folks and thanks for sticking with this story and for your feedback. I appreciate it.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Stubborn **

"Have you been giving him that… drug?" Celik asks his private doctor as they march down the hallway of his villa, the bright sunlight reflecting off suits of armor and various antique weapons of his home. Celik is a proud man, his breeding and upbringing making him a man of stature, his lineage can be traced to the early Ottoman Empire. He doesn't surround himself or employ just anyone.

"Yes I have. He's been troublesome however, was violent when the routine was first started but I believe the sleep deprivation is finally calming him some." Vasiliy states, his Russian accent thick. Celik nods to himself and quickly opens the door that leads down into the basement of his home; the basement which had once held his father's finest wines now keeps the object of his hatred behind a set of steel bars and solid stone.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from our dear Mr. Spencer." Celik smiles and slows his pace as the steps closer to the bottom become slick from moisture. Flipping the light switch at the bottom Celik smiles at the sharp intake of air from his prisoner and the sound of a body being shuffled back, away from the light.

"Oh yes, I forgot to mention. Being kept in the dark has also caused his eyesight some problems." Vasiliy states cheerfully, his expression unchanged from his usual sour one. The Russian doctor was considered to be one of the brilliant minds of his generation, praised by the government and was one of the most sought after medical opinions around.

Until it was discovered he was stealing cadavers and street urchins to use in his experiments, thinking that he'd be helping humanity with his findings.

To bad those within the government didn't think so.

So, after hearing about how this man was cast from his homeland and stripped of his license to operate within the country of Russia Celik hired him on as his private physician. His knowledge of drugs and how they work on the human system has come in handy in the past and at the moment he is an invaluable member of Celik's staff.

"Anything else to report?" Celik asks, turning to look at the man as he heads for the stainless steel work bench in the corner, his long fingers already flipping through a series of notes he'd taken.

"Well, other than being awake for over three days he has three broken ribs, his right foot is fractured and I believe four of his fingers on his left hand are broken as well." Vasiliy states sharply, moving his way through the file in his hand.

"You 'believe' his fingers are broken?" Celik quotes with cold edge, his elegant eyebrows rising slightly in question. For a moment the Russian doctor looks worried before his sour expression returns.

"Mr. Spencer, although suffering from the lack of sleep and numerous injuries he is still considerably strong and stubborn. I haven't been able to get a close enough look to confirm if the appendages are truly broken or not." Vasiliy states easily, his sharp eyes narrowing as a breathless, rough chuckle escapes the captive Specialist. The edges of Celik's mouth turns upward and he turns to look at the bare chested man sitting against the damp stone wall, his knees pulled up to his chest-dispite the pain it must be causing him- and forearms resting easily on his bent knees. Long hair, stringy from lack of care and dirty from lying on the floor cascades down around the man's shoulders. Bright, icy blue eyes stare at Celik, their depths filled with the dead hatred the Turkish man remembers from their encounter before.

Eyes belonging to the Siberian devil that haunted him for so long.

"Well, I see my… accommodations have done little to smother that admirable spirit of yours Mr. Spencer." Celik quips easily, watching as the American's bruised chest heaves for air and his bruised, bare toes curl against the stone floor. The smell of the stone and iron prison –the cage-makes Celik curl his lip is disgust for a moment before he looks over at his Doctor, standing silence and rapidly taking down notes.

"How much is his output?" The Russian starts at the question and seems puzzled by the inquiry but quickly flips through his notes.

"Along with the Provagil – it had to be forced into him by crushing up tablets and mixing it into water- he has received only one liter of water in the last two days. For an average adult male his intake should be three point seven liters, usually. Not knowing his former habits of liquid assumption I'm going by proven amounts." Visiliy states smartly and Celik pinches his nose with his human hand, sometimes the Russian isn't as smart as he claims to be.

"Output Visiliy, _output_. Judging by his… stink it's been a fair amount." He clarifies, reminding himself that he really _does_ need this man and to not loose his temper. Visiliy's face falls for a moment before he quickly flips through his notes.

"On average most people produce one to two liters a day, Mr. Spencer is barely producing one, since he isn't being given free access to liquid." Celik nods and turns back to his captive, finding the American watching him closely.

"Well, I'm going to need you to survive at least three more days Mr. Spencer. Once your out of my hands I'm _sure_ you'll be well- not taken care of- so much as 'care of' in the literal sense." He smiles cruelly. Once more the blue eyes lock onto his and the voice, raw and harsh restates the same threat Celik keeps hearing, day after day.

"When I get out of here Celik… I _will_ _**kill**_ you."

Celik's smile turns hard and sadistic, his eyes holding the same insanity Eliot remembers from his first encounter with the man.

"Maybe in your next life Mr. Spencer, because I'm sure that the only way you're leaving is with a buyer who will also imprison and eventually _break_ you, then kill you for their own pleasure. You see Mr. Spencer, over ten people have returned interest in my little auction, all of whom you've committed crimes against at some point in your worthless life." Celik informs, watching the captive man closely as the stubborn glint in the blue eyes flares to life once more.

"Keep up the routine until Wednesday, then take him off but keep him awake. He'll need to be properly cleaned and presentable for the prospective buyers on Friday." He orders and Vasiliy nods sternly, his eyes filled with excitement.

"Alright boys, you know how this works. Get the subject ready for his next influx of medication." Vasiliy orders and four bruisers quickly move to make good of the order. Celik watches from the stairs as the bruisers enter the small cell, two slamming their bulk into the American as he struggles, his hands balled into fists –despite the assumption that some my be broken- and tries to fight back. Lack of food, proper water and movement has caused the Specialist's moves to become slow and predictable.

Within moments the muscled body of the American is down on the floor, each appendage held down, his growls and curses nothing but empty threats.

Celik smiles at the audible crack and yelp of pain.

"Well, now his left arm is broken." Vasiliy remarks happily as he steps around the bruisers and thrusts a funnel into Eliot's mouth. Nodding to the bruiser closest to his head the man pinches the Specialist's nose, effectively cutting off his breathing while Vasiliy works at pouring the cocktail down the funnel. Eliot sputters and coughs, his ribs crying out as they burn for oxygen.

Eliot knows that in such a situation most people would have given up already, just allowed the mad men around them to do this without a fight. He knows that by fighting he's making it worse than it has to be, breaking bones and suffering needlessly. He knows that if this was anyone else they'd damn their pride and just succumb.

But that's the thing. He's not 'most people' and he isn't one to just lay down and die.

He's too damn stubborn for that.

He's a Spencer, and they haven't beaten him yet.

* * *

**Author Note:** wow… tacky ending I think but it works. Next up… -evil music plays- the auction and the con! Update again next Sunday!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **Well shit, you people must be feeling real special. Three posts within a couple of days. I started writing this chapter Monday and was just having waay to much fun writing it that I finished it late this (Tuesday) afternoon before heading off to work. Over on LiveJournal a few weeks ago you could ask Mr. Devlin questions and finally the answers were posted. Browsing through them I was happy to see that in Season 3 we might be seeing something that scares Eliot and the finale of S3 will have the reasons behind why he hates guns. Seriously? I'm looking foreword to S3 more and more and not just because of the ending of S2. Oh and there was something about audiences actually getting to _meet_ the monkey mentioned in S1. [insert Wah's jump for joy here].

Oh and we are getting a gag reel on the DVD's which I am pumped about because… I love gag reels. What else do I have to say…. Uhhh…. That's about it I guess.

Oh! Enjoy the season Finale, it's pretty decent! Love to hear what you folks think about it.

Alright, I'm shuttin' up now…

**Chapter 6: Viewing **

"_Alright guys, remember this is only the viewing... don't act too interested. Sophie, try to get in with Celik." _Nate's voice states over the comms connecting the team from where he's standing in the main foyer of Celik's grand Villa. A glass of fine champagne rests comfortably in his hand but he hasn't taken a sip from it, instead focusing on sweeping the gathered crowd and checking off a mental list.

Sophie nods once to Tara and the two women break away, the European heading in the direction of Celik, hyper-aware of anyone that might recognize her as she moves through the large library like room. People are gathered everywhere in small groups and for a moment Sophie allows the amazement of seeing so many people who would be enemies on an everyday basis come together just for _this_, the auction of a human being. It makes her sick to think that Eliot has _this many_ people who are out for his blood. With a mental shake she refocuses and quickly feigns interest in a Jacques-Laurent Agasse painting, one of two grey hound type dogs. Really, it's not a _famous_ painting and not within Sophie's own tastes since it was reported stolen from a Museum in Texas and wasn't a 'high profile theft', but it's there so she'll use it.

"_Alright Sophie, he's interested. Keep him talking while Hardison gets that security code off his phone." _Nate instructs and the woman tries not to jump when the Turkish host steps up beside her, a charming smile revealing white, neat teeth.

"Merhaba." Celik greets, his voice casual as he extends his hand for Sophie to shake which she does willingly, dropping effortlessly into her role and smiling at the man.

"Merhaba Bay…" she trails off and Celik quickly answers.

"Altan Celik, your host for this evening and the auctioneer." He offers smoothly and raises one of his narrow eyebrows at the woman before him.

"Ah, thank you for your hospitality Bay Celik, I am Damia Scipio." Sophie introduces, her knowledge of Turkish customs coming back after years of avoiding the country. Celik pumps her hand once more before releasing it and turning to address the painting she was admiring.

"Beautiful isn't it? Agasse could see within and capture the beauty of any animal." He admires and Sophie quickly agrees, mind scrambling for a way to keep the man talking.

"I heard reports that this very painting had been stolen from an American Museum not long ago, tell me Bay Celik, how did such a painting come to be in your lovely home?" she asks, indicating the many sculptures and paintings within the room. Celik smiles warmly, happy to have someone comment on his collection and raises his gloved hand.

"The same way all my art and antiques have come to me, the same way I would think you attain your jewels Bayan Scipio." He winks and Sophie allows herself to giggle at his remark.

"Yes, I believe we do have something in common then." She admits, playing into her character and forgetting all about the room around her.

"If you would walk with me, I will be more than happy to show you more of my collection." Celik smiles, gesturing once more with his gloved hand, drawing the attention of the woman, her eyes puzzled. Slowly he lowers his hand back to his side and gives a soft sigh.

"Forgive my manners, but my hand was injured and would cause many here unneeded distress if it were not covered." He states byway of an explanation and Sophie smiles reassuringly, scrunching up her nose a bit.

"I hope the man who caused the unfortunate accident has gotten his just reward?" she asks nastily, slipping on arm over his offered elbow and allowing him to escort her through the crowd of people.

"Oh yes, I would say he is paying _dearly_ for this, as you will soon see since he who caused the injury is the reason you –and the other guests are here Bayan Scipio." He remarks, suddenly all business. Sophie snaps to attention, eyes widening slightly at the offhanded mention of Eliot but quickly forces herself back into character.

"Ah yes, Mr. Spencer. I fear my father was unable to see the day that _ruffian_ finally receives his just due." She states, using the back story she and Hardison had worked out earlier.

"Your father you say?" Celik prompts and Sophie nods, pulling up and stopping their movement before reaching out for a glass of wine, her host doing the same.

"Yes, you see Bay Celik my father also had numerous items showing up in his collection, bought off the Black Market. Spencer was sent to retrieve one of the artifacts –those where his pride and joy- when it was taken from his estate he was heartbroken. Sadly he passed on shortly after." Sophie states, adding a dramatic flair at the end just for authenticity and watches as Celik's expression falls slightly.

"Rest assured Bayan Scipio, you are not the only one here with grievances against the American." He states and smiles warmly, turning away when his name is called from across the room. With a nod of his head Celik turns back and warmly shakes Sophie's hand once more.

"I will have to give you the tour later; I have another matter now that needs my attention. If you'll excuse me." He says and quickly walks towards the man who had called his name. Sophie resists the urge to shudder and wipe at her arm, the man's touch burning her skin.

"_You did good Sophie, Hardison got what he needed. Parker? How's it going?"_ Nate praises as Sophie moves off towards a more secluded spot where she can watch the room and listen to the chatter over the comms without appearing too antisocial.

"Nate I don't like this… there's something _wrong_ with that man." She hisses softly, covering her words with a sip of the wine.

"_Of course there is something wrong with him, he's trying to __**auction**__a person." _Nate responds smartly, the anger in his voice all too real. Sophie sighs and glances around the room once more, scanning the crowd and suddenly wishing the hitter was in the room with her. It's amazing how quickly they all got use to having the brawny man around, hearing his chuckle over the ear pieces as he talked with guests. Although not a Grifter by trade Eliot did a fair job playing his parts, fearless in the face of new situations. She can feel tears start to sting in her eyes and quickly questions Nate, needing the distraction of the con to keep her thoughts away from what condition the man might be in.

"How's Parker doing? Hardison find out anything?" she asks, sipping from the wine to cover her speech.

"_I've checked out the plans and hacked into this man's security feeds. Looks like he's got a wine caller of some kind_ _but from the images I'm getting off the cameras down there- there isn't any wine." _Hardison states and the European woman's mind works to figure out what that would even mean.

"_There's a series of air vents leading down into that area, it's just a giant maze…I've had to backtrack three times so far. And it's dusty. Never seen dusty air vents like this." _Parker mutters absently, her speech pattern uneven as she pulls herself through the vents.

"_I think I found where they're holding Eliot for the viewing. Was looking for the bathroom when I saw Celik and a small balding man walk by briskly, baldie was muttering something about a reaction. They disappeared down the eastern corridor." _Tara reports coming into the gathering room, pausing briefly to bow to a National of some country who she caught the attention of.

"_Their drugging him..." _Nate trails off suddenly as he suddenly becomes engaged in a side conversation with someone on his end. Tara moves to stand beside Sophie, smiling warmly at the woman as the two begins to exchange their rehearsed stories. Nate manages to disengage himself from the conversation and makes his way over, acting startled by the sight of the two women.

"Damia and Angie! What a surprise." He exclaims gently leaning in to mimick kissing Sophie's cheeks before raising Tara's hand. It was something the three of them agreed upon that they would be together for the viewing of their friend and colleague, a safety net to keep them from doing anything hasty.

"Remember, we're only here to view and gather information on his wellbeing so we can properly plan the next part. Don't get emotional, Celik will no doubt be watching the crowd, gauging who will be the most eager of the bidders." Nate states, his expression kept in a happy but neutral expression. Sophie's heart drops into her stomach as Celik reenters the room and the murmur of conversation drops into silence.

"Ah, honored guests. It would please me if you would be kind enough to join me in the main Library for the viewing of the merchandise. Kindly follow me and take a seat wherever it pleases you." Celik states, ever the gracious host and smartly turns on his heel, disappearing through large double doors. Conversation starts back up, this time in a heated, angry edge as the other guests begin to move foreword. Sophie exchanges a nervous look with Nate who lightly brushes his fingers over her bare forearm. Tara swallows convulsively for a moment, her own apprehension showing in the nervous twitch of her fingers.

"Alright, let's go." Nate directs and wordlessly begins to lead the way, giving the two Grifters only a few seconds to compose. Sophie screws up her nerve and pushes down her anxiety, knowing that _this_ would be her best performance. Tara seems to take strength from the other woman and within minutes they are both wearing a smug expression with an air of confidence and pleasure. Nate managed to retain three seats towards the back of the rows and the women sit gratefully.

"As you all know, this auction is being held for the pleasure of delivering retribution to a man known as Eliot Spencer. He's a well known name within the Retrieval Specialist field and has slighted many of you out of money, items and even loved ones. He's a merciless killer who is only interested in the money he stands to gain by attaining what he's sent for with a total disregard for human life. The bidding will start at one-hundred thousand tomorrow night, no cash will be accepted at the time of the sale but before you will be allowed to leave the wire transfer will have to be collected." Celik reminds, standing in front of a cloth covered screen and for a moment Sophie is afraid that it will only be a recording of Eliot and that all of Parker and Hardison's hard work will be for nothing.

Then, with a twitch of his gloved hand Celik removes the cloth.

Sophie's eyes widen and it takes Nate's restraining hand to keep her in place as the people around her coo and clap in pleasure at the sight before them. Tara looks away briefly and takes a deep breath to compose herself before looking back while Nate clenches his jaw. Over the comms they all hear Hardison's sharp intake and then silence as his end of the comms are muted, leaving only Parker's demands.

"My god." Sophie whispers and can't help but stare.

Eliot lay curled on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest as far as they can go while his body shivers and spasms uncontrollably. The sharp blue, intelligent eyes she'd come to appreciate are barely open, the pupils dilated so far that the icy blue is just a small sliver of color around an inky pool of black. Deep, dark bruises stretch across his ribs as they heave for air and the ominous rattle of congestion echoes over the sound system attached to the viewing box. The hitter is naked except for a pair of dark boxers, the material doing nothing to keep the man's dignity. Muscles that had once been thick look small and strained on the man's dwindling form, sickness, exhaustion and pain marring his captivating features.

"They've worked him over pretty good and drugged him." Nate whispers, his sharp eyes taking in the damage done to the other man. He restrains himself from cursing loudly at the pronounced break to the man's arm and fingers, the swelling and unnatural bumps indicating the exact location of the injuries. Usually tanned skin has become sickly pale, making the tattoos on his lower legs a stark contrast. Long hair, usually kept groomed and clean is plastered to the man's head in dirty clumps, dried blood and muck clinging thickly to the brown strands.

Nate shakes his head in shame and tries to catch the many conversations going on around him but can't tear his eyes away from the too wide pupils of the hitter, wishing he could somehow prove to the injured man that he and the team are _here_ and working to rescue him. Slowly Eliot blinks, the process seeming to take much longer and for a moment Nate catches something in those eyes, a hint of contempt, fear and regret.

Dark eyes circled with bright, arctic blue lock onto his.

Nate's breath seizes in his chest, he knows that look. He saw it in Sam's eyes towards the end. It was a crushing blow then, to see such a look but now it's even more crushing. To see someone like Eliot, a vibrant, stubborn, prideful and tough man with such a look in his eye… it's an overwhelming feeling of sadness. He never expected to see that look in the eyes of someone like Eliot, but there it is undeniably staring him in the face.

Defeat.

Slowly the eyes close, cutting off the defeat filled gaze and to Nate it's a clear message.

_Don't even bother. _

**Author Note: **I was going to break off and leave you all hanging with a cliffy but figured a lot of people were probably waiting for this moment so I continued. Really though, the next update will be on Sunday, so, please drop me a review and let me know what you thought and if you have a comment on the season finale.

Now we have to wait till July for new Episodes… what to do till then?

Oh yeah…. Torture Eliot. Sound like a plan?


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: **Sorry about the multiple notices of update, was being stupid and wasn't saving some changes.Not a whole lot to say here, other than I am doing a few short stories that are in (a way) related to this one. Just short little blurbs I decided to expand upon. Those stories are located over at my Live Journal. They are not in any kind of order and will be posted up during the week. If you have something (a prompt or whatever) send it to me, short stories are great.

Shuttin' up now.

**Chapter 7: To make it through**

"What do you _mean he's given up?!_" Sophie shouts the moment her heels click over the threshold of the penthouse the team is staying in. Tara had watched silently while Nate and Sophie snapped and snarled at one another after the viewing, their whispered conversation gaining more heat as the ride to the hotel continued until if finally exploded. Nate gently closes the door and works at getting his tie undone, motions jerky as he struggles for something to say. Sophie rages in the corner, fingers shaking as she works on the strap of her stilettos, using the sofa for balance. Tara moves through the room giving both Hardison and Parker a silent shake of her head as she passes, heading for the mini bar. Parker sits close to Hardison, knees pulled up to her chest and eyes glued to the laptop screen where Tara can only presume the video of what she missed is playing. Hardison himself is watching the angry exchange between the Mastermind and Grifter with wide, worried eyes.

"Sophie I've seen that look." Nate states softly and the European woman, caught up in her rage whirls around, intent on letting the former insurance agent have it but the words die on her tongue, her mouth opens and closes for a moment before she shakes her head.

"That means he _saw_ you! He knows we're here." She states and Parker's head whips up, eyes wide with excitement as she moves fluidly, perching herself over the backside of the sofa.

"Wait really? He saw you, that's good right? I mean… that means he won't give up now… right?" Parker stumbles, hope edging at her words. Tara looks down into her drink sadly, knowing that what Nate is about to say to the younger members should be his duty alone, but willing to step in if need be. She's seen torture before in her –former- line of work and what she saw tonight was no different.

Just a different face with the same outcome.

"Sit down… c'mon sit." Nate instructs softly and moves to occupy one of the armchairs while Parker shifts back around and Hardison closes his laptop. Sophie moves to sit beside Parker and Tara take up the last armchair, the small bottle of Vodka held loosely in her hand. Hardison, seeing the small bottle gestures for her to hand it over. Once in his hand he takes a long chug, wincing a bit before handing it back, Tara quickly finishing it off.

"Tonight… didn't go well." Nate starts but holds up his hand to silence Parker's protests.

"Yes, we got in with Celik, yes you found out where he's being kept but guys… Eliot isn't in the best condition. Multiple broken bones, a rapidly forming chest infection, malnourishment and dehydration are only _part_ of the problem." Nate pauses here and licks his lips, the words to continue forming too slowly as the images of the hitter, his friend, laying in that case come back.

_Don't even bother_

"He's been drugged, beaten, sleep deprived…." Tara begins when the other seem to be getting jumpy when Nate doesn't respond. Hardison's eyes narrow slightly, voicing what the others are thinking.

"Do you think he said anything?"

"No." Nate states sternly, the sharpness in his voice making the Hacker jerk his attention back to him. Nate clasps his hand and stares at the younger man, his expression unreadable but the sad glint in his eyes all too real.

"Celik didn't do that to him for information. He did it to break his spirit. Sleep deprivation, dehydration, public display… all things that will wreak havoc on the psyche of any person. Even someone like Eliot." He states softly and is about to continue when Parker begins to rock slightly, her head shaking firmly.

"No, no, no. He _**promised**__!_" Parker states fiercely.

"Parker…" Sophie starts soothingly but the blond thief doesn't want to hear it, instead she whirls on the Grifter, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You promised too! You said we'd make happy memories again." She stands abruptly and glares hotly at Nate.

"_**He promised.**_" She stresses before moving across to the room she was sharing with Tara and slamming the door. Sophie looks across at Tara who watches Nate as the man stares off into space.

"He's been through it before, hasn't he?" Tara states sternly, pulling the Mastermind from his thoughts. Slowly Nate reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out the battered Registry, his fingers shaking slightly. Sophie glares at him while Hardison questions the object.

"What in the hells is that? You- you had that on the plane didn't you." He asks accusingly, long finger pointing at the older man. Nate nods and thumbs through the pages of the small book, his voice soft.

"This holds every job Eliot has taken in the past several years, every client, every capture, every torture session. Everything that makes Eliot good at his job is explained in here." He begins.

"This has happened before, numerous times. Each time he's managed to escape with a small piece of himself, angrier, tougher… but he's kept a part of himself. Never allowed any of those that had him to fully destroy him." Nate's voice cracks just a bit but he clears his throat and continues.

"From what I saw tonight there is nothing left for Eliot to hold onto, he's been beaten into a submission so low that not even he can drag himself back up." Hardison shakes his head sadly while tears slip from Sophie's eyes. Even Tara who'd only worked with the man for a short while can't help the thickness in her throat at the thought of a destroyed Eliot.

"We still have to rescue him." Hardison states sharply, his voice cracking a little bit but the determination in his eyes would have made the man in question proud. Nate looks over at the Hacker but remains silent.

"Look, this may have finally broken him but should we-his _friends_- really allow him to be sold off like some kind of animal man? I don't care, no one should be treated like anything less than a human being." Hardison snarls angrily.

"He won't be the same Hardison. Even if we do manage to get him back it won't be the same Eliot." Nate states firmly but the Hacker doesn't listen, his face set in a stern mask.

"Doesn't matter. He's hauled our asses out of some heavy –deadly- situations. He's protected _my_ ass numerous times. I'm not going to sit idly by and watch this happen. Doesn't matter if he's not the same… he's still Eliot, he's still a person. He's still my friend." Sophie nods her agreement as a soft click of the bedroom door reveals Parker's tear streaked face. Nate looks down at the battered notes in his hand and nods his own head, knowing that Eliot would do the same for any of them, regardless of the outcome.

" 'we fight rather to keep something alive than in the expectation that anything will triumph.'" he states softly.

"T.S Eliot… one of the many quotes in Eliot's register." He informs as Parker takes her place once again beside Sophie. Looking around the group of thieves-family- Nate can see their hell bent on recuing Eliot, consequences be damned.

"Alright, let's retrieve our Retrieval Specialist." He grins.

+ --- +

Celik smiles down at the shivering form, the sight of such a strong man reduced to a quivering mess a delicious sight. Eliot had been removed from the glass viewing cube and replaced inside his cell in the remodeled wine cellar.

"Seems that although the price is slated to start at one hundred thousand it will reach well past the million mark within a few minutes. Feel honored Mr. Spencer." Celik informs as he works at loosening the silk tie from around his throat. Eliot's blue eyes lazily watch as the man moves in the small cell, his polished wing tips striking the stone painfully loud. He doesn't respond to the Turkish man's taunts, knowing full well that with all the drug circulating through his system whatever he has to say will be less than articulate.

"The representative from Myanmar is _very_ interested in you. He offered me nearly four million just to spend an hour with you. Personally I would have loved to take him up on the offer, but that would be taking away quality time spent with your rightful buyer." Celik continues, stepping close to Eliot's broken fingers. Eliot flinches away-more like a hard twitch of unresponsive muscles- not wanting to end up in more pain. His body is a mass of screaming nerve endings and overtaxed muscles, his head pounding from lack of sleep and the sound of his own blood much too loud.

Everything just _hurts_.

Oh God he's sick of hurting.

He'd seen Nate and Sophie and Tara, sitting in the back row. Nate's jaw had been set firmly and his eyes troubled as he stared at him. Sophie looked on the verge of tears for a moment and Eliot's heart had swelled a bit with pride when she composed herself, ever the actress to stare at him in contempt. Tara was less refined but the outrage he knows was boiling under the surface only showed in the thinning of her lips and the squaring of her jaw. Eliot was ashamed for a moment then, watching the two Grifter's struggle between their emotions over his condition and their dedication to whatever con they were running. Women refined like Sophie and Tara shouldn't see this part of the business. Their grifters, their jobs never boil down to getting captured or tortured and in Eliot's opinion no one should see the outcome of something like this.

Women in general shouldn't be exposed to horrors such as this.

Eliot wanted to say as much, to rage and yell at Nate to get them out of there, ashamed that the two of the three women he's allowed close enough to consider _friends_ to see him in such a state.

But he couldn't move.

He could only lay there, his muscles twitching and shivering as people clapped and exclaimed their enjoyment at his capture. He could only stare out at Nate, refusing to look at Sophie or Tara in fear of actually catching their eyes. He knew what he must look like, but none of them needed to know what type of state _he_ was in. The crackling in his chest and the numbness in his hands, the fever and the _cold_ were wearing him away, working down through the layers Eliot built up over the years of torment and capture. The icy spikes of doubt and despair had penetrated deep, hitting the bone weary exhaustion Eliot had been dealing with for years.

He was tired of dealing with the mental outcome.

He was tired of having to pull his ass up by his bootstraps and carry on.

So he closed his eyes, shut out the growing look of sadness in Nate's eyes.

And did the one thing he hadn't done in years, not since his Mama died.

He prayed.

**Author Note:** I hate the ending to this chapter. I dunno why but it just came out sounding like Eliot is a whiney little bitch but I couldn't figure out how to…. Urg. Frustrates me. Anyway, update coming again next Sunday, so please drop me a review and let me know what you thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note:** I have been watching _Rescue 77_ via some links posted over at the Christian Kane community. A bit on the corny side, lasted only 8 episodes but I kind of like it.

Also has anyone else been attacked by that stupid I heart Vampires Ad? That freaking ad drives me crazy; I hate Vampires with a passion and am one of those people who believe Ann Rice had it right when she wrote Interview with a Vampire. Hands down, the _only_ Vampire movie I will actually willingly watch. I could care so much less about 'Corbin and Lucy and they heart vampires'. Kill. Me. Please. Every story or chapter I click on that Ad comes up, it's fucking ridiculous.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Like a rock**

That song had been stuck in his head for hours now –could have been days, he's been having trouble keeping track- the words replaying over and over in his head. Sometimes he works up the energy and starts to mutter the words.

_Like a rock, the sun upon my skin_

_Like a rock, hard against the wind_

_Like a rock, I see myself_

_Like a rock_

The first time he heard that song he was twelve years old, sitting in his father's brand new 1986 Chevy Silverado. That was a good year for his family, the year before everything went to hell, leaving his Mama struggling with three kids and no income beyond what she could get turning tricks. His Daddy was sitting beside him, long fingers tapping a beat out on the steering wheel while he sings along as they drove home, the bed of the shiny dark blue truck loaded with plants for Mama's garden.

Eliot allows a smile to split his cracked lips, happy in the memory for just a few moments. He doesn't know why he's been so caught up in memories he swore he'd never look back on the day he left. Eliot chuckles to himself, a sick gurgling in his chest making the man blink dully.

"Seems—a fittin… ta die here." He struggles to say to the darkness, his words melting into the thick nothingness beyond his limited vision. With a groan he shifts a bit, surprised at how little he hurts and Eliot knows that's not a good sign but can't bring himself to care.

"Well, if I die here it'd be a nice fuck you wouldn't it?" he asks himself, thinking about how angry the winning bidder would be when they come to pick him up and find a lifeless carcass. Sad really if one wants to think about it, here he is-Eliot Spencer- well known Retrieval Specialist, his reputation defining him as being a roughneck that'd kick your ass sooner than look at you, a man who has escaped from all types of prisons… dying in a dark, wet cell in some bastard's basement.

Eliot snorts to himself, slightly amused but quickly sobers up again, his mind whirling to all those things he'd wanted to do. He was planning on locating his siblings, his little brother and sister who'd been removed from his care all those years ago, maybe take an actual vacation to a warm island and just relax.

He had planned on finally teaching Hardison to use his whole body in a fight, not just his arms.

Have a rematch with Nate in Pool, maybe allow the Mastermind to win back some of his money.

Show Sophie how to not kill every house plant she comes into contact with and maybe help her build a little garden.

He'd promised Parker…

Eliot stops his mental list, ears straining to hear. The sound was out of place, it wasn't the sound of turning keys in the door to the basement, and it wasn't the sound of footsteps. There was a soft bang and a curse, the sound explosively loud in the silent darkness. Eliot tenses, unsure of what to expect when the creaking of a floorboard announces the presence of a person. Eliot watches the darkness, his eyes straining to locate any movement, aware now that whatever is going on isn't happening with Celik's knowledge. Maybe a buyer-too eager for their revenge- has snuck into his dreary prison. Or Celik himself has become even more sadistic and is doing this to simply torment him.

"Eliot!" a hissing voice calls from the darkness. Eliot frowns, he never knew the darkness had the ability of speech. A single shot of light is moving around, the narrow beam glinting off the metal table and surgical instruments. Eliot's eyes spasm as the too bright light sweeps over his face, a cry coming from the man at the new pain.

"Oh jeez, sorry." The darkness apologizes sheepishly as something lands outside his cell with a dull _thump_.

"I'm in Nate. Yes, he's here. Uh-yeah?" Eliot blinks experimentally, worried about his sanity now as the darkness keeps chattering away. His eyes track a flash of blond hair and for a moment the man can only blink, unsure if what he's seeing is really there.

"Parker?" he strains, hope building in his chest. A soft 'got it' is his only response and within minutes the door is open. There's a tense moment with Eliot still in disbelief that someone just _opened the door_ and a huff from the person who did it.

"Well… c'mon." the darkness urges, but when Eliot refuses to move, his mind supplying him with images of the hell he'd catch for falling for such an obvious trick. Just another one of Celik's sick ploys to break him a little bit more by offering him freedom but knowing he's too weak to achieve it. Wearily Eliot rests his head against the floor and closes his eyes, determined to ignore the blatant trick.

"Nate he's not moving." The darkness states again and Eliot shakes his head, not wanting to believe that Nate is out there somewhere, helping Celik with this sick game.

"Okay." Darkness chirps and within seconds booted feet are beside him and someone is crouching _beside_ his head. Eliot's eyes snap open and he flails, trying to put distance between the person and himself. He doesn't get very far when what little strength he has suddenly leaves him, he can only lay on the floor in defeat, heaving for air as the dark blob with the golden hair leans in closer. Something is pressed against his ear and for a second Eliot is convinced it's the muzzle of a gun.

Then it speaks.

"Eliot, can you hear me?" Nate's voice asks across the frequency, voice cracking a bit. Eliot's blue eyes widen a fraction and he makes an affirmative noise, unable to speak.

"We're here to get you out, but you need to help Parker. She's got your exit." He stresses sternly and for the first time in countless days Eliot's mind is clear. He glances up and sees Parker's face, the usually blank look replaced by a sharp frown that doesn't belong on the thief's face.

"Hey darlin'" he drawls softly and Parker's soft, hesitant hand brushes over his bare shoulder. Eliot shivers at the kindness of the contact, having only been on the receiving end of bruising fists and pain.

"Come on sparky, it's time to go home." She smiles nervously and Eliot nods, gathering his strength to move. His body is stiff from lack of movement and cold and he bites back a curse when his strength fails him once more.

"Oh wait, Nate said to give you this- said you'd know what to do with it." Parker states, rummaging around in something and pulling out two sticks. Eliot runs his unbroken fingers over them and determines that they're pre-filled syringes. He gives a wet chuckle and quickly uncaps and jabs the needles into his flesh, hitting the button to dispense. Within minutes the mixture of stimulants and vitamins are coursing through his system, providing him with enough strength to make it to his feet and stay there.

"Alright.. gunna need you." Eliot directs, waving Parker over with his unabused hand. The lithe woman is quickly by his side and waits patiently while the Hitter mentally prepares himself for the task of _escaping_.

"Under my arms. Don't pull." He orders and slowly brings himself up to his feet, Parker's warm hands searing hot against his icy skin. His legs shake for a few moments but Eliot breathes as deeply as possible, struggling to draw air into his broken and pneumonia ridden lungs. A harsh, wet cough explodes from him, making his balance waver but Parker's hands keep him from keeling over too quickly.

"A-alright." He breathes shallowly and nods his head, indicating to Parker it's alright to stop touching him. He leans against the cell wall, waiting for everything to stabilize a little before attempting to move.

"Hate to rush you, but we gotta go." Parker urges and Eliot nods, gearing himself up. His bare feet slap heavily against the stone floor as he follows Parker slowly to the old service cart shaft. Eliot frowns at the rickety old contraption for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"Come on." Parker urges.

"I'm not goin ta fit in there Parker." He states in an exhausted mutter. The young thief pauses for a moment before turning to him and grabbing his face. Eliot flinches away and nearly looses his balance on the uneven floor. Her fingers dig into his face as she guides him towards the service elevator.

"Your getting in there." She stresses with a hiss and for a moment Eliot sees the stress lines on the young woman's face and shame clenches his heart. He caused those pinch and frown lines on Parker's usually expressionless face. He's the cause of the exhaustion in Nate's voice. He closes his eyes for a moment and nods his head, feeling Parker's hands ease up.

"Alright, get in." she instructs and as quickly as Eliot can force his body to bend into the cramped service elevator Parker joins him.

"We're in. Take us up." She orders into the com and within seconds the metal contraption is chugging it's way up the shaft.

To freedom.

* * *

He doesn't remember how exactly he ended up in the van, all he knows is that Nate's concerned face swims into focus and a soft blanket is draped over his shivering form. Hardison's long fingers seek his own out, gently saying that he's there while Parker chatters away about how undignified and boring escaping through an unused service cart would look on her criminal resume.

Eliot blinks, since when did she start keeping one of those?

"S-sophie?" he croaks out, amazed at how soft and strained his voice sounds as Nate kneels beside him.

"She'll be joining us in a minute, don't worry." He assures but there's something in the Mastermind's voice that strikes through Eliot's struggling mind, the hint of a smile on the man's face. He groans and shifts but cries out as his broken arm spasms.

"Nate, w-what'd ya do?" he slurs, realizing quickly he's not going to be able to keep his eyes open. The injections did their job and gave his strained body just enough to get up and get out, but now the exhaustion and sickness is winning. Eliot blinks, straining to see the Mastermind clearly but the man's face swims like a Picasso painting.

Heh. Picasso.. what a fucked up bastard that man was.

His eyes slid shut and somewhere in the back of his mind Bob Seger is singing _Like a Rock_ and he's sitting beside his Daddy once more in that '86 Chevy.

* * *

Nate frowns as Eliot relaxes further back into the seat, his dazed blue eyes dropping closed with a soft sigh. He stares down at the Hitter, taking stock of the injuries littering his narrow frame. Just a few weeks ago the Hitter was the picture of health, his tanned skin and bulk adding to the image. But now, after weeks of confinement and torment his skin is pale and clammy and the muscles seem to have whittled away to nothing. Nate knows it won't take the Hitter long to get back into shape, but it's not his body Nate's worried about.

It's the state of his mind.

There would be no telling how much damage the man took to his psyche after this capture until he was recovered enough to be lucid, which judging by the injuries and the sick rattle in his chest, won't be for a while. Although knowing Eliot he'll be up and insisting he's fine within a few days.

Nate smiles grimly to himself, who would have ever thought he'd be looking foreword to bickering again with Eliot Spencer- the man who lead him on a two year chase across China and Russia. With a gentle hand Nate reaches out and brushes the dingy hair away from the man's clammy face, a sad frown cutting his features.

"We got him back man." Hardison supplies, watching the action from his place closer to the cab, laptop perched on his lap. Nate glances over at the Hacker and nods his head, removing his hand from the Hitter and surrendering him to the care of Parker –under strict orders to call to Nate should something happen- before moving to the driver's seat. Headlights cut through the darkness of the old winery roads and within seconds a town car is pulling to a stop beside the black van. Sophie and Tara get out, the blond woman stopping to pay the driver with an impressive wad of cash for his silence before moving towards the van.

"We good?" Sophie asks, glancing into the backseat and giving a relieved sigh upon finding the missing Hitter there, wrapped in a thick blanket. Tara shares a smile with the older Grifter and with Hardison's help climbs into the back of the van. Nate glances around the cab at his team and nods to himself.

Everyone is present… but not entirely whole.

* * *

Author Note: So, I was getting bored with torturing Eliot, so I decided it was time for him to be rescued. As a kid my mother owned a 1986 Chevy pick up and one of my earliest memories is the song _Like a Rock_ by Bob Seger playing while driving through town, so I guess that was a bit of an homage to my love for Chevy's (yeah yeah I know, 'but Fords are sooooo much better' whatever, I'm a chevy girl.) That and I think _Like a Rock_ goes well with Eliot. Anyway, review if you deem it worthy, I'm sure people are confused with the con, that will be explained in later chapters.

Working on a Rescue 77/Leverage crossover on my Ipod (yes I write on my ipod, should have seen all the ideas on the last one before it went through the washer) but it won't be started until this one is finished. But, there is a story up on my LJ which is a small crossover. So, look again this Sunday for another TRJ update.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note:** I flushed my red Betta fish today, it was slightly sad. My yellow one seemed sad that his tank mate was gone so I bought him a new friend. He's blue and extremely active. So their trying to fight each other through the divider and all puffed out. It's kind of cute. Anyway, I regret to inform you all that next Sunday there most likely won't be an update. I am going in for surgery and am not sure how up to sitting at the computer and writing I'll feel so just as a fair warning. Never know, might be feeling okay and you'll get a small update. Not sure yet. So, no freaking out when there isn't an update in your boxes. I have a good reason!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Fredrick Goddard is an older man, his face lined with wrinkles and head nearly bald save for a few grey wisps. Tired looking sour eyes blink from behind the thick lenses of his bifocal lenses and his hand trembles a bit as he pushes the lenses back into place. In his day Mr. Goddard was one of the tops in his field as a surgeon in service to her Majesty the Queen during the Korean War. After the war he returned to his home and set up a small private practice and set about starting his family. He was well respected in the community and lived a very prosperous life until the death of his wife and son. Their death had shattered the man, driving the spark of life from him and leaving him a care in the world except his desire to join his beautiful Emily. His practice went downhill due to his drinking and within a matter of years his license was revoked and the then, forty-three year old found himself homeless, moneyless and friendless Goddard came to be employed by the local crime bosses. His vast knowledge of medicine and specialty in surgery provided him with a job as a back ally chopper, the man the injured members of the underground can go to with gunshot and stab wounds.

Cash on the barrel head.

No questions asked.

It was a good business for a man who had little care for those who came to him. They would pay his fee and he'd patch them up, provide them with a safe place to replenish their fluids and heal up and there would be no questions asked when he called in a favor. It all worked out and even though the world of criminals changes drastically one thing is always for certain.

It's a brutal business and eventually, everyone needs to be sewn back up.

Now, in his late eighties Goddard rarely takes on clients. His age and the crippling arthritis has kept him mostly secluded to his home, waiting out the day for when he can finally join his sweet Emily again. But, when someone the likes of the charming Ms. Devereaux calls him who is he to refuse?

So that's what brings him out on such a dreary night, his medical bag –disguised as a suite case on wheels- rolling along behind him as he walks to the front door. He's about to knock when the fancy door is pulled open and a pale Sophie answers.

"Thank you for coming." She states and quickly moves out of the way for him to enter. Pulling the case of medical supplies up and over the threshold Goddard pauses just inside the door, removing his long coat and hat.

"What's the need my lovely Ms. Devereaux?" he asks as she takes his coat and hat and places them on the ornate chair before gesturing towards the guest bedroom.

"A friend is in need of your services. He was held captive.." she trails off as Goddard waves a wrinkled hand, silencing her. Sophie's mouth closes, a soft smile playing at her lips.

"Too much information my dear. Show me the patient and my fee." He states simply and Sophie nods, leading Goddard down to one of the bedrooms. The medical bag's wheel squeaks loudly as he enters, his eyes widening slightly a the number of people already in the room. Of course a _team_ of criminals isn't out of the ordinary but in this day and age –because much has changed since he first started- teams are rare, each thief choosing to claim all the glory for a heist.

"Here is your fee." Sophie states, gesturing to a cube of cash on the dresser and Goddard reaches out, patting the English woman's hand affectionately with a smile.

"I trust you dear. Now, let me see the patient." He states and shuffles closer to the bed, his mouth drawing downward in a frown. Goddard's seen a lot in his years as a chopper, he's seen men beaten to a pulp, eyes hanging from the sockets and limbs hacked clean off. He's been witness to a number of horrors and none of them have chilled him in such a way as seeing this young man does. Gently he reaches out and pushes two fingers into the side of his neck, counting off the steady beat of the man's heart, eyes roaming over the visible injuries.

"A brawler hmm?" he states simply, a question not in need of an answer. The proof of the man's profession written clearly on his knuckles and forearms, his arms corded with muscle too thick for hanging off wires and slithering along the walls in the shadows. No, this man isn't one to sneak along, plucking objects in the dead of night. He's all action and movement.

"Hmm. This is what I'm going to need. You ladies will need to leave us, Sophie dear if you'd be so kind I'll be needing your bath tub, boy has so much grime on him I can't tell what's a bruise and what's just dirt." Sophie nods and grabs the lithe blonds' arm, pulling her from the room while the stern eyed one follows, shushing the protests of the younger woman.

"You boys look nice and strong. As you can see I'm unable to do the heavy lifting, so if you have the stomach for it I'll need you to assist." The older man and the lanky Black man nod sternly as Goddard moves to his pack.

"Here let me." The older one states and lifts the medical bag up onto the chest at the foot of the bed and Goddard nods his thanks before unzipping the bag and pulling out numerous items.

"First we need to reset and splint those broken bones so's that they don't shift when we move him." He states mostly to put the two other men at ease. It didn't take a doctor to see that the idea of helping to patch up a team mate made the younger of the two nervous.

"Be at ease boy, I'm going to need you to hold down his shoulders while I do this." He directs at the younger who licks his lips and nods, settling himself onto the bed. Doddard watches as the young man hesitates at touching the other's bare shoulders and he growls.

"Listen boy, he's out. He's not going to feel anything. Hold him down." He orders sternly, easily slipping back into the tone of voice he used on common street thugs back in his younger days. The young man glances briefly at the other and with a nod from the elder he sets himself to press down on the bulky shoulders, his expression tense.

"Now, you hold down his elbow." He orders and begins to probe at the bulge signaling the location of the break. The flesh is hot and inflamed, the bones grinding slightly as Goddard straightens. As a medic in the middle of a war zone he had learned how to push, pull and bully worse broken bones back into place. Thankfully this break was fairly straight foreword and is quickly put back into its rightful place. Reaching around the older man Goddard grabs the splint that injury until after the man is cleaned up. A shaky sigh escapes the older man and his face is pale but eyes clear. Goddard had seen many with the same look, leaders who blame themselves for what's become of their men. He studies the wildly dark haired man for a few moments longer and decides that maybe-just this time- he should break his moral code.

"Your names?" he asks, turning back to focus his attention on the broken fingers quickly resetting each one.

"Nate Ford and this is Hardison." Ford states, gesturing to the younger man who smiles weakly. Goddard grunts and splints the broken digits without so much as looking up. Once the more severe injuries-the broken bones- had been set Goddard begins his examination, his arthritic fingers moving across flushed skin and pressing against ribs that shift. He mutters to himself while he works; only giving an order when the unconscious man needs to be lifted or moved. Ungloved fingers soon become stained with grime and blood which he wipes away with an alcohol pad, his worry of contracting a disease non existent; he's far too old now for it to matter. With a pair of scissors he makes quick work of the thin material of the man's only garments before stepping away and gesturing to the two men.

"Alright, Mr. Ford, Hardison I am going to need you to gather up the sheets beneath your friend here and as gently as possible bring him to the bathroom." He orders and shifts through his pack, taking out several items before moving towards the door.

"Sophie, is that bath ready?" he asks, finding the bird-like blond staring at him. Goddard frowns and stares back for a moment before shifting his gaze to the dark haired woman who smiles and nods, her eyes showing signs of crying. Goddard smiles and pats her hand gently as he passes; standing beside the couch as the two men gently moves the unconscious man down the hall, the soft purple sheet doing a wonderful job as both a stretcher and a shield, keeping the injured man's dignity in tack during the move.

"We're going to need towels and another sheet. Leave them outside the doorway and knock. Don't want your man feeling as if he's been violated once he's awoken and this way he can be reassured without it being a lie." He states and winks at the dark haired Grifter before shuffling down the hall and closing the door. Both of the men and breathing heavily and standing by where they'd set down the unconscious man, waiting patiently for orders. Goddard looks around the large bathroom with appreciation and nods.

"Wouldn't have minded something like this back in the day, no sir I would not. Try moving screaming, bleeding men around in a bathroom the side of a closet." He remarks with a chuckle, remembering how he and his assistants would be slipping on the wet floor and tripping over each other as they tried to bathe the injured.

Uncleanliness breeds infection and infection invites death.

Goddard may be a lot of things, but he won't sit back and allow a patient to die simply because they lacked hygiene.

"Let's get this done gentlemen." He directs and quickly sets about telling the two younger men how to take care of placing their injured companion into the water and what to do while he was cleaned. Adding a bit of Alcohol to the water Goddard suddenly wishes he had remembered his flask.

And curses his old age.

* * *

Author Note: anyone else hear that Mr. Devlin wants Kane to cut his hair? What's your feeling on this? I personally don't like how long his hair's gotten-I think it's _too_ long- but if it went to being like it was in the Pilot I'd be totally okay with it. Just, not short like back in his Fame L.A days, not like that. He looks good –and I like guys- with long hair but the random decorations and the braids just means it's too long and it was getting really frizzy and just didn't look good.

I dunno. What do you think?


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note:** Jesus this has been a horrific week. Seriously, the week from hell holds nothing to what the past week was for me. Surgery, recovery, computer virus, computer eating all my fucking music…. It was insane. I worked all week and for the past two days have done nothing but try and get my computer back to the way if was with all my adobe programs, the brushes, fonts and gradients I LOST and slowly starting to put music back on the system. You guys weren't going to be getting an update this weekend either, but I was frustrated and annoyed and decided to write.

This week? Yeah I have a shit load of testing I need to do to figure out why I'm producing large paving stones in my kidneys and working all week. Insane bills all piling up. Fucking hell! Anyway if you want to read more or are remotely interested in the back story of what happened this week check out my LJ, the rant and bitching is up there.

**Chapter 10: Cease**

Once Eliot had been scrubbed clean of the dirt and dried blood of his captivity the water in Sophie's tub was stained a rusty red and the man's skin was left a sickly pale. Now, without the dirt staining his skin Nate could see the massive bruises and scrapes. Hardison had remained tight lipped and diligent throughout the entire process and followed the older Doctor's orders to the letter. Nate nods at the younger man, noting the Hacker's determination as they lift Eliot's unconscious form from the bathroom floor where they'd dried him. Once again they used the sheet as a sling and gently maneuvered Eliot through the living room and back into the spare bedroom while Goddard supervised.

"Thank you for your assistance." Goddard grunts after Eliot is once more settled on the bed and a series of thick blankets pulled up over the man's muscular chest. With a sweeping gesture Goddard ushers both Nate and Hardison from the room and gently closes the door. Nate opens his mouth to protest, about to demand that the elderly man do this job but stops at the stern glint in the eyes behind the thick rims.

"Now, I will be needing more supplies in order to cast his arm and splint those fingers properly. Hardison was it? Yes, would you be so kind as to go to my office with the other young lady here and retrieve the items on this list?" he asks and for a moment Hardison looks about ready to protest, his eyes flicking to Nate for direction. Slowly the Mastermind nods his permission and Hardison sighs.

"Come on Parker." He calls and the blond thief jumps at her name and looks over from where she'd been staring out the window. Tara watches as the younger thief gives the Doctor a haunted look, her eyes wide before also allowing her gaze to fall on Nate. Nate swallows hard and gestures at Hardison.

"Go with Hardison, the doctor needs some supplies." He restates gently and for a moment Parker looks about ready to protest but quickly clamps her mouth shut and follows Hardison out of the apartment, the door closing behind them with a click. The tension within the room is still high as Goddard seats himself in one of the chairs and gestures for the remaining thieves to sit.

"I sent them away because I don't think they should need to hear this." Goddard begins as Nate eases himself down on the loveseat next to Sophie while Tara takes a long haul from the glass of alcohol in her hand, the liquid moving erratically as he hand trembles a bit.

"Your friend has a lot of injuries-as I'm sure you are aware. During my examination I found him to have four broken ribs on his left side and two cracked on the right. His right shoulder had been dislocated but either he-or his captors- relocated it. Left arm was broken but it was a clean break-he got lucky- and I was able to rest it. Once in a cast it should heal fine. The fingers on that hand are broken as well, although the small finger will only require a splint. For this I will cast the arm and those other three fingers. His right foot has been fractured and I'll wrap that up." Goddard rattles off, unfazed by the extent of the injuries and unaware of the shock of those surrounding him.

"I can only guess they kept him drugged. I will be taking a sample of his blood but will need to call you with those results. Judging by his body condition your friend was a muscular man and healthy up until now correct?" he asks, looking at Nate for answers.

"Yes, I've never seen him sick." Nate states and Goddard nods.

"Good news is that your friend will recover. His injuries aren't horribly severe and nothing life threatening, he should recover given time and rehabilitation. I know he's been deprived of sleep but that too can be fixed. His system is flooded with drugs of an unknown base but that too will work itself out. He will recover and although he won't be back to the way you remember him as quickly as you probably would like, he will get there." Goddard assures but Nate quickly interjects his fears, voice trembling just a fraction.

"And his mental state?" Goddard looks at the two older women and sighs, shaking his head.

"That is the reason I sent the younger members of your crew away Mr. Ford. Although thieves they are still fairly young. Your friend suffered a great amount while in captivity and I don't think I need to tell you what type of havoc being tormented and injured, beaten and berated by someone causing within the human psyche. I can not answer your question Mr. Ford, I am a back ally Chopper… not a head doctor. But, from seeing many men like your friend-fighters, brawlers and guards- I can tell you what to _expect_ when he wakes." Goddard states firmly and curses himself and his harshness at the tear that slips down the face of Ms. Devereaux.

"Nightmares, Eisoptrophobia- that's the fear of mirrors or seeing himself in a mirror. Coordination problems, anger, depression… the list goes on." He states sadly and for a moment no one speaks and the room is filled with the sound of the elegant wall clock, the ticking sounding overly loud in the silence.

"Well, at least he has us… he doesn't have to go through this alone." Sophie states, trying to sound optimistic. Goddard listens to the soft conversation about how strong the man in the other room is, and all they'd have to do is let Hardison talk his ear off and can't help but hope they are right.

Four hours later Eliot was finally redressed in a set of boxers and sweat pants, his unconscious form again under a mound of blankets. His arm had been cast with fiberglass and special liner that would allow him to get the arm wet without worrying. Nate grimaces at the florescent orange color of the cast, knowing that the Hitter isn't going to like that but seeing the smile on Parker's face kept the older man from saying anything. Parker had quickly removed herself from the apartment after the casting was complete, saying something about markers and a craft store she saw. Nate let her go, having seen the hesitance in the young woman's movements when she stepped into the room, her wide eyes glued to the hitter. If stealing markers make the blond woman act more like herself Nate wasn't about to stop her.

"I will be back in the morning to check on him again." Goddard states, zipping his rolling bag closed and shuffling out into the hallway, the low squeak of the bags wheels muffled against the fine Persian rug.

"Thank you, for coming." Nate states and holds out his hand for the elderly man to shake, appreciating his help. Goddard regards the man before him with a critical eye, having pin pointed him as being something not completely _right._ Not exactly a thief but on the wrong side of the law just enough to keep time with a group of thieves. Slowly Goddard takes the offered hand and allows the shake before gripping the man's hand tightly, drawing his attention.

"Your feeling responsible… no boy, don't try to deny it. I've lived too long on this side of the dark and have seen to many of your kind. His too" he states, hiking his thumb in a gesture towards the room containing the injured Hitter. "Your thinking it's your fault that boy is laying there, but I can tell you its not. No sense in beating yourself up over something that's already been done boy…. I can see the tightness within your little band here Mr. Ford and I know that when that boy wakes up he's going to need you with a clear head… not blaming yourself for his situation. I've seen his kind before Mr. Ford, loyal to a fault, stick by their bosses through thick and thin… until that boss starts blaming himself for his injuries. Don't fall into that trap; I can see these things Mr. Ford and he'll need you to carry on as you always have, or it will be the end of him." Goddard concludes sadly and quickly steps away, his shoulders hunched and collar of his coat pulled up as he moves out of the apartment and back onto the street where a cab is waiting to take him back to his apartment.

Back to his apartment, a strong glass of Scotch and the photograph of his beautiful wife.

He curses himself and his age and all the things he's seen.

But most of all, he curses the fact that whoever that young man once was… will most likely cease to exist as his friends new him.

**Author Note: **Small update, very small. Drop me a review and I promise another (longer) update next weekend. Thanks much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note:** So my computer still has that evil Malware. I'm currently waiting on my new Hard Drive to be shipped in and then installed and partitioned by a friend of mine. I'm being a procrastinator this week and haven't gone to do my testing-don't feel like rolling my ass out of bed, showering and being at the lab for 7 am- so I was able to pound this out. Good thing too because this weekend I'm planning on overhauling my car- it smells like a dirty stall, wet dog, pizza, water mold (my car leaks) and the slight undertones of a watermelon air freshener- to get it ready for… BEACH AND HORSE SHOW SEASON! That and it's going to be in the 60's –heat wave for us- and I have little money…. So I'm going Martha Stewart on my car.

Oh, found this on an IF interview with Kane: _A lot of that is [__LEVERAGE __creator] John Rogers. He came up with that idea and he knows I love superheroes, comic books and Anime and when he wrote that, he had my character in mind._ YES! Thank you Mr. Kane, you made my liking Anime totally okay. (not that it wasn't but… yeah)

Okay I'm done rambling, because really? Did you all need to know that? I think not. Onto the fic!

Also, this is Sunday's update early due to the weather being so freaking nice. So, another update will come _next Sunday_.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Plan M…. **

Eliot slept for nearly three days straight, waking only long enough for his glazed eyes to roam over the faces of the team before dropping closed again. Goddard explained that although he opened his eyes and looked around that Eliot might truly not have _seen_ anything, sometimes the human body does things that can't be explained but also relented that it was a good sign, signaling that he was slowly coming back into a lighter stage of sleep. Due to Eliot's inactivity a catheter was put into place and several IV bags carrying needed nutrients were hung on the scones above the bed, making the small guest bedroom in the unassuming apartment seem more like a field hospital room. The team took turns sitting with the Hitter, a schedule that allowed someone to always be in the room while the others caught up on sleep or ran errands.

Nate took the early morning to about nine o'clock, often just sitting by the bedside with a cooling cup of coffee and his thoughts running wild as he listened to the Hitter breathe.

Sophie from nine o'clock till about one in the afternoon, she would talk to the Hitter softly, alternating between reading lines from a playbook she'd been studying for an audition she could care less about and singing softly to fill the silence of the small room.

Parker, who worked diligently on the decorating the cast took after Sophie till about six o'clock. She worked steadily at applying the colors to the bright orange cast, her artistic ability showing in the quality of her work. In place of the simple fiberglass is a perfect rendition of the bones slowly healing beneath the flesh, each bone outlined correctly and shaded to make it look realistic and natural despite the hideous color. Goddard had praised her and even offered one of his books as a reference for the blond thief.

Tara relieved Parker then and while she hadn't been on the team long enough to warrant her keeping watch she thought she owed it to the man. She stayed silent for the most part, flipping the small scrap of paper she'd carried with her all the way from the Hitter's apartment over in her fingers, tapping it on the arm chair.

Hardison relieved the Grifter at about nine thirty, having decided to take the night shift due to his night owl tendencies. The rapid click of fingers on plastic keys filled the silence of the room while Hardison played and worked. Sometimes the shouts and gun reports of a futuristic movie displaced the sleepy silence of the apartment.

They waited and hoped, patiently attending to the injured Hitter's needs while they stayed close by, ready for the moment when the bright, intelligent blue eyes of their friend finally found opened and held their usual clarity and cold fire.

They waited three days.

In the early hours of the morning during Nate's shift the Hitter groaned and shifted on the bed, his body stiff from lack of movement and healing injuries. Nate was on his feet in an instant, watching the younger man's face for signs of his waking. Slowly the eyes blink open and a sharp gasp accompanies their swift closing as one of the man's hand moves agonizingly slow to cover the offended optics.

"Eliot?" Nate asks gently, quickly dimming the light he was using to read the paper. A grunt is his answer and slowly Eliot tries opening his eyes again, this time squinting making the soft light bare able as he works to make sense of the watery shape in front of him. His instincts scream at him to strike out at the unknown blob, strike out and get away but _something_ is stopping him, keeping him from doing so. _Something_ about the watery blob is familiar, non-threatening. That and his mind is screaming at '**don't move damn it!' **and the signals of _pain, pain, pain, pain, Danger, Danger, Danger_ swim around in the vortex that's become his thought process.

He groans again and risks looking around him, his eyes feeling gritty and heavy. Trying to make sense of everything that's around him but his thoughts scatter just beyond his grasp.

"Wh-where…. A-am.." he tries but his throat constricts painfully, cutting off his words as he chokes on the cotton that someone shoved in his mouth. He coughs, his lungs heaving as his body spasms against the pain it produces. He groans sharply as the pain throbs clearly as he works to breathe.

"Easy, easy." Nate states, hands shaking as he holds a plastic cup of water to the younger man's lips, waiting for him to sip at the tepid liquid. Eliot sucks a small amount out of the cup, the feeling of wet washing away the painfully dry feeling.

"Slowly now, not to much." The swimmy man coos at him as Eliot pulls in more of the liquid, eager to make the itchy dryness go away. He groans when the cup is taken away but doesn't dwell on it, instead he curls away from the swimming blob and closes his eyes tightly, trying to work his way through what's going on and what his body is telling him.

"Eliot?" Nate tries again, worried about the man's reaction and gently touches the trembling shoulder, worried when Eliot jerks away a fraction, his blue eyes snapping open.

"W-who are you…?" he demands breathlessly, his blue eyes widening a fraction before his eyebrows pull down in a V, confusion chasing shock around in the blue eyes. Nate frowns for a moment and seats himself down on the bed, aware of the twitchy response so unlike Eliot.

"Come on Eliot…" he tries but at the sharp confusion and angry set of the other man's mouth Nate can tell something is _seriously wrong here_.

"My name's not _Eliot_….." he stops for a moment, eyes clouding for a moment before clearing. Nate watches as the man works through his thoughts, unsure of what to do so he waits, anticipation drying his mouth and twisting his gut.

"Y-yes it is… but I…" he starts and within the blink of an eye the confusion is replaced with the sharp emotion of paranoia, blue eyes darting around the room as his breathing hitches. Nate reacts quickly, aware of the signs of a panic attack and quickly grabs the injured man's face, pulling it back to face him. Careful to avoid the worst of the bruising he grasps the man's face, watching as the eyes twitch each way and his jaw works spasmodically as he tries to draw in air.

"Listen to me… listen. I'm Nate Ford… you work with me and a group of thieves. Your name is Eliot Spencer, you're the Retrieval Specalist hired by Dubenich to steal back some plans that he claimed were stolen by a rival plane designer." Nate states, trying to bring back the Eliot he knows by stating the job that began the team. Eliot's blue eyes focus on him and for a moment the Eliot from before blazes hotly in the icy eyes at the mention of the man who attempted to kill him. But _that_ Eliot is smothered by the confusion once more and his eyes are wildly snapping around the room, focusing on nothing.

"W-where's Wayne?" he breathes and tries to twist away from Nate but his weakness keeps the usually strong man from breaking free.

"Who is Wayne? Eliot? Who is Wayne, maybe I can find him?" Nate offers noting how clearly distressed the younger man is becoming. Eliot struggles for a moment more, his breathing coming in painful gasps. Nate can tell by the trembles that it won't be long until Eliot's over taxed body shuts down, pulling the man back into sleep.

"L-lance Cor—corporal Wayne Morgan… sh-shit. Told 'im ta h-hold his pos-psit-on." Eliot's eyes roll back and his body falls lax, leaving Nate to gently release the man's face. He knew that Eliot's background was military of some sort, but even those facts were hazy at best, kept sealed away inside the government and Eliot's own head. Stepping away from the bed Nate runs a hand over his tired eyes and tries to work through the situation. Goddard had said that Eliot might be confused when he awoke, hazy from the drugs used on him and the effects of the sleep deprivation, so he isn't going to worry too much about the man's inability to recognize him just yet.

* * *

Nate didn't tell the others that Eliot had woke up briefly, instead opting to keep the information to himself until he knew for sure if Eliot's confusion was just temporary or not. Throughout the day the Mastermind wondered in and out of the injured man's room, sitting quietly reading the news paper while Parker continues her task at defining the human bones on a canvas of bright orange. The young blond hums to herself as she works on the underside of Eliot's forearm, the scratch of the black pen barely audible as it glides over the material. Nate flips the page of the paper and scans for any news concerning Celik and is happy to note that nothing has some up.

"You know, sitting here won't make him wake up again." Parker suddenly states, her voice loud in the previously silent space. Nate jumps slightly and regards the woman from over the curl of the paper. Parker ignores him, pursing her lips as he studies the diagram depicted in the borrowed medical book before resuming the shading of the neatly defined Ulna bone.

"What do you mean again?" Nate asks, unsure if the woman is fishing or if she had clearly heard something during the night. Parker's eyes flick up briefly and Nate is taken aback by the stark seriousness in the depths.

"I heard-and saw- what happened last night." Her eyes flick to the air vent beneath the small table on the wall beside Nate's chair and Nate groans. He should have figured the lithe blond would have shimmied her way into the duct, standing by to make sure she's there if Eliot needs anything.

He should have figured that the blond had scoped out the apartment's nook and crannies.

Damn her.

"Don't worry, I won't tell the others." She chirps cheerfully, a smile breaking across her face as she turns back to her work. Nate is still shocked silent by the young woman's perception and is about to thank her when Eliot shifts on the bed, making Parker frown and jerk the marker away from the cast so as not to ruin the work. Nate watches for a moment as the Hitter settles once more with a sigh, his facial features relaxing once more from the grimace. Parker gently pats the man's upper arm, her long fingers brushing lightly against the heavy bruising. Nate's taken aback by the gentleness the usually energetic and emotionally harsh woman is showing.

"Thanks Parker." Nate says, nodding his head as the woman shrug, continuing her work with the same insane focus she uses while she picks the locks in her massive box.

"I just want him to get better…. He promised." She says softly with a hint of _something_ in her voice that makes Nate's heart cave in. She had stated that Eliot had promised something to her but there isn't a hint of what that promise is. But it means a lot to the blond criminal, enough to have her sleeping in air ducts – which despite popular belief she doesn't _just do_.

"What'd he promise you exactly?" Nate asks directly, knowing that beating around the bush with the blunt woman would do little in getting him the answer he was looking for. Parker glances up and that slightly sadistic smirk is back, along with the mischievous glint as she simply states.

"He's going to let me teach him how to fly." Before recapping her marker smartly and practically leaping off the chair, a comment about 'lemons' being her exiting line before disappearing out the door. Nate stares after the crazy but unbelievably _sane_ woman for a moment before chuckling and glancing back to where Eliot rests, oblivious.

"Oh I feel bad for you." He shakes his head and goes back to reading his paper, chuckling at the idea of Eliot 'flying' down the side of a building.

* * *

Hardison liked late hours and as a kid his Nana would curse to high heaven about how lazy of a boy he was in the mornings. After striking out of his own and landing feet first into the world of crime Hardison kept his day time activity to a minimum, enjoying the late night hours spent hacking government agencies and wiping out his enemies on the various online games.

That is until he started working with the team.

Now Hardison has a reason to get to sleep before six in the morning while not on a job and a _reason_ to get up, dressed and to the office by ten in the morning. At first it was difficult and he found himself often wearing two different shoes and accumulating speeding tickets-which were wiped out of course- but he slowly got use to it.

He also got use to what he dubbed 'Friday Night Fights' or better known around the apartment as 'Hardison's weekly ass whoopin by Eliot'. It was something he complained, whined and stomped his feet the whole way but still attended the weekly fighting lessons the man provided. In the beginning he and Eliot were always at odds, the Specalists' own lone wolf nature and natural suspicion of people keeping him from wanting to get to close and Hardison's instant dislike of the southern man's brutish mannerisms didn't allow him to enjoy the dry humor hidden beneath the course words and growls.

Now though, now Hardison sits beside the injured man's bedside, plugging away on his computer to keep him mind from thinking about what the outcome of his captivity could have been if the team didn't get there in time. He'd hacked into the missing persons database and read over all the case files-the ones they _don't_ release to the public- and read over the numbers of those unsolved disappearances that have been chalked up to human trafficking. Young girls, far from home on spring break poached by scalpers looking to make their money off of human flesh, sold off to foreign brothels as exotic slaves. Young collage men, auctioned off as cattle to whoever will pay for them and then use them however they please.

He's read the case files of those who had been found.

And lost his appetite for over a day.

He keeps telling himself Eliot is different, that Eliot is a survivor. But the words from the night before their rescue of the Hitter keep coming back to haunt him. '_From what I saw tonight there is nothing left for Eliot to hold onto, he's been beaten into a submission so low that not even he can drag himself back up'_ words spoken by a man who had seen it all before. Anxiously Hardison's gaze shifts to the still man on the bed, his chest rising and falling with the natural way. His skin is still pale, contrasting sharply against the pale purple of the comforter and the florescent orange-but nicely decorated- cast. Hardison turns back to his computer, logging into one of the numerous MMORPG's he's signed on when suddenly he's thrown foreword, noise and his own alarmed cry filling the apartment as Hardison struggles to make sense of the weight that's just crushed into him, an arm tight like a steel band locking around his throat. Hardison gasps and tries to roll the weight off him, using one of the many techniques taught to him by the Specialist but nothing it working as he croaks out an alarm.

"Ha-Help!" he shouts in a croaking gasp, thankful that the door to the room is open. The bicep tightens, the taut and bulky muscle putting pressure on his adam's apple and his wind pipe, effectively cutting off his ability to barely breathe let alone speak.

There's the sound of pounding feet and blurrily he sees the grate on the wall flying across the room and a blond blur slipping out. Within moments there's a crowd of people clogging up the entrance to the room, eyes wide. Hardison gasps at the growl, that familiar-feral and low growl.

"Back off!" he snarls, jerking Hardison back with him back into the corner between the bed and the wall, his movements jerky with what Hardison can only assume is pain and stiffness.

"Parker.." Nate softly states and the blond thief quickly falls back, her eyes wide as she stares. Hardison chokes in a breath, his long fingers clutching at Eliot's taut forearm, desperately working to loosen the choke hold while he gasps and chokes. His back is pressed against Eliot's own bare chest and dimly Hardison can feel the trembling in the fighter's body, his chest heavily for air and the feel of his rapid exhale on his neck.

"Who are you people?" he growls out and Hardison's eyes widen, searching for Nate and finds the man in a state of shock. Parker's head is cocked to the side while Tara and Sophie share a look. Hardison would have groaned if not for the fact that's he's being held hostage by a man who can probably snap his neck with his forearm alone.

"Who are you- make me ask again and I'll snap his neck." Eliot snaps, giving Hardison a forceful jerk to prove that he _actually could do it_.

Aw hell. Welcome to plan M everyone.

What happens in plan M?

Oh yeah, Hardison _dies in plan M._

**Author Note: **Oh don't you guys hate me now? Amnesia is fucking great and I'm looking foreword to this part. It's not going to be complete amnesia, he'll remember some stuff but discovering a little more about him will be the best part I think. Anyway I hope this made up for the short chapters, it's about seven pages long I believe and has Hardison getting beaten up. Don't get me wrong, I adore Hardison –not as much as Mr. Kane though- but I'm a fan of his getting beaten up or threatened by Eliot. They make such a great team on the show and add just the right amount of comedy to keep it from being overly dramatic. Does that even make sense?

Also, I have made 2 backgrounds and they are on my DA for anyone interested. Eliot and Nate, I am working on Parker and Hardison as a request for someone over on LJ but like I said… New computer Hard drive + 2 ½ hour Adobe Install + ½ hour crack time = don't hold ya breath for anything quick.

Thanks so much for reading this story! I appreciate it and enjoy hearing from those who review.


	12. Chapter 12

**heyTitle**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note:**

I won't be updating next week due to my attending Anime Boston both Saturday and Sunday. Beyond that, nothing is really going on or has happened, so just a simple thanks so much for reading!

**Chapter 12: Been doing this too long **

Nate watches the situation unfold with a critical eye, taking in Hardison's wide and scared eyes as the Hitter keeps a firm hold with his arm around the other man's neck. Bright blue, dangerously menacing and slightly lucid eyes watch the group wearily. Nate frowns and looks at the equipment that Goddard had set up while the Hitter was out, the catheter dangles forgotten, thankfully the slightly red contents of the bag kept from leaking by a valve, while the IV tubing is stretched to the limit, probably pulling at the needles in the man's veins. Licking his lips Nate steps a bit closer, watching the man as he huff and gasps for air, his arm muscles bunching as Hardison gasps for air.

"Eliot. Release that man, that's an order." Nate barks in his best commanding tone, voice harsh with an edge of a snarl punctuating his words. This makes the injured man pause for a moment, his paranoid eyes scanning over Nate, trying to detect his objective.

"Nice try fucker." He growls out, keeping a firm hold on Hardison as the bicep flexes against the man's throat. Hardison's eyes are wide and pleading but he remains as still as possible.

"That is a direct order. Release him _now_." Nate tries again moving a fraction of an inch closer, watching as confusion and paranoia chase themselves around in the narrowed eyes of the Hitter. The eyes suddenly soften a fraction and the grip loosens, the hard, dead expression that had filled the eyes and twisted Eliot's expression fades as he realizes who is speaking and what is arm is wrapped around.

"I-I…" he trails off and with a muffled curse releases Hardison who leaps away, collapsing on the floor with a hand grasping his throat, pulling in grateful breathes as he gags and chokes. Parker kneels beside the Hacker, patting his back awkwardly while Tara and Sophie keep their distance, expressions worried but hesitant.

"Eliot? It's Nate." Nate says softly, creeping just close enough to the man so he can see the sickly pale and sweating face.

"Yeah I know… wh-where am I?" he asks in a moment of pure sanity, his words clipped with exhaustion and pain as he gazes around the room. Nate sends up a prayer for the return of the Hitter's memory and quickly tries to get him to keep talking.

"What do you remember?" he asks and watches as Eliot frowns, his expression hardening once more for a moment before softening again. With a gasping groan Eliot brings his hands-frowning at the fluorescent orange cast- and clutches at his head the fingers of his good hand splayed.

"Uhh… orders were to-to.. search the southern quadrant. We came under fire…" he pauses for a moment and looks up. Nate tries to hold his expression but can't help the sinking of his stomach into the floor at the confusion and uncertain edge, the description of some mission gone awry sometime in Eliot's colorful but dark and shadowed past.

"That's not right is it?" he demands, words trembling just a fraction as he reads Nate's expression like a man would a paper. Nate curses his poker face but quickly gestures towards the other thieves, now watching anxiously from the doorway.

"Eliot, do you remember them? Can you tell me who they are?" he asks slowly and moves slightly to reveal the team. Hardison had recovered enough from his attack to lean against the wall, Parker still kneeling beside him while Tara gives a small wave from beside Sophie. Nate watches the Hitter closely for any type of reaction, violent or otherwise. Eliot frowns for a long moment, his face expressionless as he stares at the faces before slowly shaking his head. Behind him Sophie gives a soft gasp and Nate knows the European woman is probably starting to cry.

"I-I know I should but… I j-just." Eliot trails off, his eyes closing slowly as he wheezes for air. Nate nods his head and touches the man's bare hand, causing Eliot to open his eyes and flinch away, expression suddenly weary and on guard.

"Easy, easy." Nate coos, not wanting to erupt another bout of violence from the deadly fighter. Eliot relaxes after a moment, his eyes tracking any kind of movement.

"Let's get you back up into this bed. The floor can't be feeling very nice on your injuries." Nate suggests and it takes a few minutes but finally Eliot's thin and shaking frame is back up on the bed, IV lines relaxed once more.

"Sophie, I'm going to need a warm wash cloth and some band aids." Nate orders gently and without a word the other woman quickly moves out of the room.

"Tara, could you brew some tea-that stuff the doctor left." Tara gives the injured man one final look before backing out of the room to complete her task while Parker helps Hardison back to his feet and picks up the laptop.

"Parker, look after Hardison. Make sure he drinks something and maybe get some ice on his throat." Nate directs and with a shuffling gait the Hacker follows the other thief from the room, leaving the drained Hitter and Nate alone. Nate sets to checking over the bandages and winces at the rapidly forming bruises at the sight of the IV's, blood welling up from the torn puncture wounds steadily.

"I'm sorry." Eliot mumbles after a few moments, his words so softly spoken Nate's unsure if he caught them. Before he can say anything though Sophie returns with a box of Band-aids, gauze and some Bacitracin, handing them off wordlessly to the Mastermind. Without thinking the Grifter squats down beside the bed, close enough to brush her fingers against Eliot's knee. Eliot jerks away, eyes dancing with paranoia and danger as the woman quickly moves away. Nate gently pats Sophie on the hand and gives her a tight smile, wishing to relieve some of the tension.

"It's alright. This is Sophie Devereaux, she's a friend." Nate informs the suspiciously watching Hitter. For a man who is always flirting with women or casually informing the group of past relationships the way he's looking at Sophie almost makes Nate wish the woman hadn't lingered and tried to touch the man like she was once able to.

"I should know you… but.. I.." Eliot tries, his voice dropping off, worry spiking in Nate's chest at the uncharacteristic mannerisms the usually gruff and bullish man is currently displaying. Sophie coos gently, her hand twitching in the urge to touch the Hitter again.

"Oh sweetie that's okay. You've been through a lot." She reassures as Nate finishes checking the man over, sighing in relief at the fact that he hadn't done any serious damage to himself during the instinct driven scuffle. With a grimace Nate glances down at the catheter and allows his eyes to run quickly over the fighter's clean and dry pants, allowing himself a moment of pause at the man's ability to remove the device without anyone knowing.

"Alright, let's get you settled again. The Doctor who has been looking after you should be back in a few hours, so you'll need to stay confined until he's checked you over." Nate justifies and with a nod of Eliot's head he gently helps the man relax back into the pillows. Blue eyes gaze around the room as if seeing it for the first time, the same cold paranoia Nate had grow accustomed to seeing is still there but _stronger_ than he remembers. The three stand in silence, as Nate tries to figure out what exactly has _changed_ and Sophie resisting the urge to mother the injured fighter while Eliot keeps a half eye on the other two, his instincts telling him that they aren't a threat but the life experiences and training drilled into him tell him to keep a weathered eye.

A knock at the door makes the fighter jump and hiss, his uninjured hand pressing against his chest as Tara leans into the room, a cup of the tea held firmly in her grip. Nate nods his thanks and presents the cup to the injured man who takes is and suspiciously sniffs at the contents. Slightly minty with the bitter undertones and something doused with natural pain relieving herbs.

"Eliot, none of us want to hurt you." Nate tries to soothe but the man only stares back at him, his eyes flicking to the cup and back, unsure of how to proceed.

"We're not going to force you to drink it sweetie, we want you to trust us." Sophie states a bit more firmly than she meant and the tone didn't go unnoticed by the fighter who twists slightly with a wince and places the cup on the dresser, his gaze haunted and suspicious. Nate licks his lips and clears his throat, trying to convey to Sophie that she should leave the room. The Grifter gives Eliot one last sad look before allowing Tara who had seen the intent to pull her from the room, clicking the door shut to give Nate-the only one Eliot recognizes- and the injured fighter privacy.

"Alright.. Uh.." Nate stumbles, running a hand through his curly mop of hair, trying to figure out where to go from here. The violence Eliot displayed earlier threw him for a moment and it's taken the Mastermind a few moments to wrap his mind around what happened. He drops himself into the chair beside the bed with a groan and rubs at his eyes for a moment, aware of Eliot's constant scrutiny.

"Stop it." Nate snaps finally and jerks his head up, finding the startled gaze of the hardened fighter staring right back at him. The two men stare for a few long minutes before Eliot finally licks his lips, his gaze dropping in a strange submission Nate wishes he didn't see.

"Obviously there's something wrong here…" Eliot trails off his voice dropping to a near whisper as Nate strains to hear him.

"I feel I should know you.. my _gut_ is telling me you and them are people I should trust. But I don't understand… this isn't a military hospital and your not military personnel…" he rambles for a moment before suddenly shutting up tight, his lips clamped tightly and a confused look taking over his features. For the first time since being awoken by Harrison's strangled cry for help Nate can see the stress of not knowing what's going on, who the people are him are and the injuries and pain clearly written on the man's face and is taken aback. Eliot, who is usually so guarded, who avoids talking about himself at all costs and rarely wears his heart on his sleeve isn't the Eliot sitting in the bed, hunched over slightly with a saddened and stressed expression cutting lines into his already weary face.

"I know, I know… this must be very difficult for you, but you have to believe me Eliot. None of us want to harm you in anyway, we've all be working together for over a year now. Your right, this isn't a military operation, you were discharged from the service and picked up work as a Retrieval Specialist, you were hired…"

"Hired to work with a group for a guy named Dubenich. Yes I remember you saying that but why… why can't I _remember _any of _them_?" he asks, frustration accenting the quick hang movement as he gestures towards the door. Nate sighs to himself and shakes his head, drawing the Hitter's attention back to him.

"Eliot, this won't make sense now and I'm not sure what exactly is going on with your memory but I think to help relieve the _unknown_ aspect from the situation it's best to tell you. You were held captive for the past few weeks by a man named Celik. Over the years that you've been a Retrieval Specialist you've accumulated a large amount of enemies and he is one of them. Somehow he got a hold of you and was going to auction you off to the highest bidder that had a grudge against you." Nate explains slowly, watching the Hitter's face the whole time. At the mention of the man who held him captive a single twitch of the man's narrow eyebrow tells Nate that the name triggered something. Eliot has very few tells when it comes to alerting people to what he's thinking or planning. It's taken a while but Nate has been able to slowly figure out some of them.

"He has a robotic hand." Eliot mumbles, his bright blue eyes fading slightly as his lids droop. Nate sends up a silent thank you to whoever is listening as Eliot's body relaxes back onto the pillows, his dark hair splayed out around his head. With gentle fingers the Mastermind brushes a lock of hair away from the sleeping man's face, a grim expression in place. Slowly Nate stands, careful not to shift the bed too badly and makes his way out into the living room, wanting to check on Hardison and work through what exactly happened.

Too much has happened for him to fall back to sleep now and if his gut feeling is right, a lot more is yet to come.

**Author Note:** More to come. I appreciate all the reviews, you guys are awesome.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: Beware; this chapter contains complete and utter medical bullshit. **I decided to take the liberty that many Fan fiction authors take when they write and bullshit my way through the whole medical reasoning, so if you go out searching for facts on if any of this is true, don't bother. I pulled it off the bottom of my riding boots, shined it up and threw it in here.

Yes, I try to keep my updates consistent. It keeps me on schedule and keeps me wanting to update and not get distracted by something else. I also find that a lot of people appreciate the quick updates –I know I do- and having a schedule also allows Readers to have something new to read every week.

No, this **will not be a Parker/Eliot story** I personally hate pairings and am a firm believer in 'if that's not the creators made it to be, then it shouldn't be' this includes characters being spontaneously gay or having relationships not represented on the show. I also personally can not write romance to save my fucking life. I suck at it and won't put the kind people who have been reading this story through having to read ' I love you so and so, but we can't be together' blah, blah, blah, blah because I can't make it convincing because I can't tolerate romance. Beatings, torture, guns, violence, captivity, sickness –the good things in life basically- I can deal with and go with, but Romance? Shit that's pure terror.

**Chapter 13: Seeking Shelter**

"Well, this doesn't surprise me at all." Goddard informs the gathered group of thieves as he pushes gently on Hardison's neck, checking to make sure no serious damage had been done. Hardison had been steadfast against talking about what transpired when Eliot woke up and was annoyed when Nate asked the good Doctor to check him over.

"You are fine young man, but I do suggest you take it easy and lay off that orange sugar you ingest so much of." Goddard recommends, his works making a watery smile break over the young Hacker's face as the older man pulls away.

"Before you start firing questions at me Mr. Ford, I had an acquaintance at the University's lab run your friend's blood for any traces of narcotics used on him. It came back with a high level of an unnamed substance. That is all he was able to give me since experiments can't be run with the tainted amount within the blood. As for his confusion upon waking that can be a mixture of both the drug and his own mind's natural defense to retreat from a horrific experience by sending memories from sometime in the past to the forefront. The fact that he _does_ remember you Mr. Ford and feels as if he _should_ know the rest of you is evidence enough that your friend will recover from the memory loss once the drug is cleared and he's healed a bit. Now, I'm sure that from just seeing the man for myself that he was a military agent of some kind correct?" Goodard asks, seating himself down on the sofa and picking up a tea cup in trembling fingers. Nate glances around quickly and is about to answer when Parker suddenly pipes up.

"You can tell if someone's been in the military?" she asks, skeptical of the man's ability. Goddard smiles over his cup, his eyes twinkling slightly with mischievousness.

"Your friend's response is a very distinctive response of men who have been in high tension situations." He informs as Parker's mouth drops open and a lean finger points at the elderly man.

"He's just like Eliot… old Eliot." She concludes, eyes narrowing a fraction while Sophie sighs and shakes her head. Hardison chuckles, having been in the van at the time of the Sterling reference while Tara scoff behind her hand. Nate smiles at the older man nervously, hoping he won't take offense but Goddard just smiles at the young woman, humoring her.

"We military men are much alike I'm afraid. Once I returned from the war I reacted badly too many everyday things and I was just a surgeon, I can only imagine what that young man has seen in the wars and infractions the world is involved in these days." He states sadly, having watched far too many children go off to war only to be returned in a flag draped casket, their families and country left to mourn the loss of a generation.

"What should we watch for? His remembering or triggering something?" Nate presses, wanting to get as much information out of the elderly doctor. Goddard pats his knee, gnarled fingers bony and cold through Nate's pants leg.

"His remembering everything could happen overnight. He could wake up tomorrow and remember _everything_. There's no rhyme of reason to the brain's function. Or, it could take weeks, months even _years_ for the memories to return and for him to revert back to the man you all remember-if ever. A word, sound, gesture, color, taste, smell could trigger a memory and how he reacts to it depends on what type of memory it is. Judging by what he did to Mr. Hardison there, your friend will react violently, his natural instinct to fight rather than run. You'll have to be careful around him, but don't walk on egg shells. Get back into a natural rhythm while he recovers and if his memories are due to come back they will, it's not something you can rush." His finishing words falling like a death sentence on an innocent man. The whole room fell into a broody silence only broken by the occasional exhale.

"How long until he's able to travel?" Nate asks slowly and Goddard gives the Mastermind a curious look but decides against questioning, it's not his place to wonder and ask, it's his to fix up, get back up and get paid.

"A week at least. Get his back onto solid foods and a bit more human looking, let the bruises fade a bit then he'll be ready for you to take him wherever." Goddard assures and heaves himself to his feet.

"Now, I will check my patient." He states and slowly gimps into the room, his voice signaling that Eliot had woken again. Nate scrambles up, suddenly afraid that Eliot might unintentionally harm the man only to find the bright blue eyes watching him wearily as the old man set about his examination, words firm and steady, explaining everything.

"My name is Goddard, I've been taking care of you since your friends sent for me. Breath." He orders sternly and Eliot obeys, wincing as broken ribs shift, his eyes flicking from the aged doctor to Nate and back again but complies with the Doctor's demands. Nate watches and listens, taking in the elderly man's movements and tone.

"You've recovered enough I say to maybe start you on some liquids, get your stomach back to being an organ and not a shriveled hunk of flesh." Goddard remarks, gently placing Eliot's good arm back down on the bed, his fingers flashing over two of the IV's, removing the needles and efficiently placing band aids over each. Eliot remains silent but watchful throughout the whole thing, moving only when told too.

"Now, these people are good people young man. I know you don't recognize them but they care about it. If I hear you've attacked another one I'll personally come back and re catheter you, without a sedative or lube and in such a way you won't be able to remove.. Understand me?" he asks a clear threat that would make any man trembles and clutch his privates. Eliot's blue eyes widen a fraction as he weighs the threat in his mind before nodding slowly.

"Good. Bed rest. You can get up and move around a bit once you feel stronger but not without aid and not without that bootie for the fractured foot. I'll be back in a few days-unless Mr. Ford gives me a reason to come back sooner." Goddard concludes and zips the wheelie bag closed, nodding to Nate as he passes. Parker peers over Nate's shoulder but remains in the doorway of the room while Nate escorts the elderly man to the door.

"How'd you do that?" he demands and the old man pats his hand.

"Military men Mr. Ford, I've dealt with many youngsters like him. It's all in the voice and carriage. Don't _ask_ to do it, just do it. Be direct." He states before stepping out the door. Nate stares at the solid wooden entry for a moment before chuckling slightly and heading back to make sure Parker isn't do anything too Parker-ish to the still recovering fighter.

Days past slowly and Eliot continued to sleep a lot, his body craving the restorative rest that would allow the team to head back to the States. The livid bruising on his face had begun to change from dark purple and black to a mottled green and yellow while the swelling quicklly faded. His memory didn't impove but as the team moved in and out of the room, bringing in food and keep him company his suspicion and mistrust faded to slight paranoia.

Often Eliot was found moving around the small apartment, using the walls for support an even attended the group meals in the living room, a bowl of soup and noodles perched on a knee that would tremble when the man became to exhausted. Sophie's small patio became a favorite spot for both Eliot and Nate in the mornings, they would sit and watch the traffic go by, barely sharing words and happy doing so.

Goddard came by and checked on his patient every other day, pleased at how quickly the man who he had serious doubts about just several days prior was recovering and even projected that he would be strong enough to make the trip back by the beginning of next week.

"Hardison, we're going to need first class tickets." Nate stated after Goddard announced Eliot's ability to travel. Hardison quickly got to picking out the dates of travel and going through flights, fingers flying over the keys as Eliot watches silently from the overstuffed chair across from the Hacker. They were friends or close to friends from what Nate had told him, always bickering like two children than the grown criminals they truly are but Eliot can't bring himself to feel secure when around the younger man, the snap shots of what happened the night he woke still sting and cause him to shudder, the desire to use him to get his answers making him sick to his still upset and rebellious stomach.

"You alright man?" Hardison suddenly asks, having noticed how pale Eliot had become. His words make the Hitter jump and hiss, a hand absently pressing to the bandaged ribs beneath his black shirt. Hardison watches as the fighter breathes for a moment, getting the pain back under control before responding.

"Yeah…" he whispers, his eyes narrowing a fraction before looking directly at Hardison.

"Where are we stationed at… state side I mean." He asks, cursing himself for the unavoidable use of military terms. He had been working on not using them so much, having seen how it made Sophie's eyes brighten with tears and Parker's head cock to the side with confusion.

"Naw, it's cool man. We're all staying in Boston, Massachusetts. Home of the Boston Tea Party, Old Iron Side and, the ever wonderful Freedom Trail, oh also the Red Sox, Celtics and Bruins." Hardison states happily and Eliot wracks his jumbled memory. He had learned about the East Coast city when he was a boy in school, learned that that's the state the early American battle for freedom from Britain took place but never in his years had he ever set foot in the state.

Never saw a reason to really.

"You enjoyed the North End mostly, good Italian food. Sophie is addicted to the Theater district while Parker kind of is all over the place. Nate is an origonal Southie boy himself, so he can tell you more about that area." Hardison informs, chatting away happily as he works. Eliot settles back into the chair with a yawn, his body telling him it's time to rest even though he'd only been away for five hours.

"Mike's Pastry." He suddenly blurts out, the image of a small shop located on a busy road, packed with people all pressed closely inside the small shop. Hardison's face lights up and he quickly punches something into his computer before spinning the laptop around for the injured fighter to see.

"You love their Connoli's. Do you remember?" Hardison presses as Eliot studies the basic tourist photo of an angular sign with _Mike's Pastry _in a golden script like font that looks like it could light up the beige building. Eliot's eyes narrow a fraction before he has to blink away a stab of pain, a hand coming to press against his head, his stomach rolling in time with the throbbing in his head.

"NATE!" Hardison suddenly yells and slowly moves closer to the injured fighters, stumbling over his words the entire time in a strangely comforting way. Nate is suddenly in the room, demanding to know what's going on.

"We were just talking about Boston and he remembered Mike's Pastry, so I showed him a picture." Hardison informs the older man who quickly kneels by the chair Eliot is sitting in. Sucking in air through his nose and out his mouth Eliot manages to bite back the sickening roll of his stomach.

"I think you should be back in bed Eliot." Nate says and Eliot quickly agrees, feeling the exhaustion pulling at his limbs as he tries to get himself up and out of the chair. Nate and Hardison help, between them they manage to maneuver the fighter back into the room and settle him down. Nate watches worriedly as Eliot's dulled blue eyes shift briefly, struggling to stay open.

"Locke Ober has great Prime Rib." He states with a small smirk and for a moment Nate is taken aback by the classic _Eliot_ glint in the eyes as they slip closed. Nate chuckles softly to himself and glances over at a very worried looking Hardison as Eliot shifts a bit in his sleep before settling.

"It's a good thing… no, really." He assures the Hacker and ushers the other man out of the room ahead of him. Closing the door Nate chuckles again and shakes his head. Of all the things he could possibly remember, Eliot Spencer-retrieval specialist extraordinaire- remembers Connoli's and Prime Rib, two of his favorite things that he'd shared with the team after moving to Boston.

"If he's starting to remember simple things like the Locke or Mike's than his memory is starting to come back… just slowly." Nate explains as he and Hardison move into the living area, Hardison replacing himself in front of the laptop while Nate seats himself in Eliot's vacated seat.

"Man must be hungry for real food or something… to remember food of all things." Hardison smiles, typing something into the computer. Nate taps his chin and makes a hmm noise.

"He mentioned something about a robotic hand. Check out Celik again and look for anything that has to do with a large medical procedure." Nate states, getting to his feet.

"Wait, your saying he might have been remembering things about Celik too?" Hardison asks but is already typing.

"Maybe, someone he knows or knew has a robotic hand. We need to figure it out, so maybe we can decode some of things that lead up to his capture and what happened to him during. Get working on it." Hardison makes a mock salute as Nate heads out onto the patio again, listening to the traffic and wishing this was all a bad dream.

**Author Note: **I know, it's been like--- FOREVER--- since there was an update. I apologize, my computer got it's new hard drive installed so I've been working on setting that all back up—lots of shit to move—and riding and Anime Conventions. It's some insane shit, I'm telling you.

BUT! Here it is, this week's update!

So, I've been getting a lot of PM's and AIMs from people asking if I have a FaceBook and if so, could they befriend me. The answers to this is, yes I do have a FB and am on it regular and if you absolutely want to befriend me your going to have to send me a PM with FB in the subject and I'll send you my name. I have heavy privacy settings on it due to harassment issues in the past, so if you could message me when you send the request so I know who you are that'd be great.

Dunno why anyone would want to be my friend on FB, I'm always bitching about something or complaining, but if you would like to read my ramblings than go ahead and send me a PM.

Update next Sunday!


	14. Chapter 14

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: So, I'm getting bored with this story now. **Dunno why, I think it might be this _wonderful_ hiatus that has stopped the fandom train. Gods, two months more to wait, with a small gift of season 2 in between. But even that is too long to wait. I dunno, just make sure to read the ending author note, it's important about updates.

Very short chapter.

**Chapter 14: hmmm**

He couldn't explain it but it felt like a nagging itch in the back of his mind. One of those annoying itches in a place where finger nails can't scratch to sooth away the feeling. The team had made it back to Massachusetts, back to their 'home turf' as Parker had put it before promptly dissappearing out a window but for Eliot it doesn't feel like anything has changed.

The world is still a mass of confusion, the faces around him often shifting and becoming obscured by memories of the past, or even the current times. He can't tell anymore, but the feeling in his gut tells him he _can't_ just take off, screw out of this place, away from these people. _Something_ is telling him to stay, to live with them here in the Boston apartment overlooking the historically dirty harbor where small sail boats are kept and jet planes roar over head. Staring out the window as the early sun just begins to clear away the shadows of the streets below the apartment Eliot can't help but sigh in frustration, raking his nails across the needling itch beneath his skull. He can see his reflection in the glass surface and for not the first time in several weeks he's brought up short by what is staring back at him. He didn't recognize his own face, the lines that came along with the several years of missing memories, missing years in which a scar had formed near his lip and his eye, both having long since healed but he can't remember how they were received. Gentle fingers brush against the glass, groping at the reflection as his mind whirls and weaves, the itch growing worse.

"Eliot?" The sharp voice in the silent apartment makes the long haired man jump and whirl, his instincts telling him to be on guard for an attack from the owner of the intruding voice. His body protests but he ignores it, narrowing his eyes as Nate's slippers hit the hardwood floor.

"Where is my apartment?" he suddenly asks, the question seemingly to startle the older man. Nate fumbles for words for a moment, trying to decide if lying would be a good option but the look in Eliot's eye tells him otherwise.

"It's across town." He informs the man, still unsure of where the still recovering Specialist is going with his question.

"Can we go there? Today?" he asks, moving away from the window, limping slightly without the special bootie. Nate frowns, noting the man's agitation in the line of his shoulders and the rapid speech pattern. Wearily Nate watches the specialist move about the living area of his apartment.

"What's wrong Eliot?" he asks, keeping his tone light as the man runs his unbroken fingers through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh before dropping onto the couch, shoulders slumped. Nate moves towards the man slowly but making sure to slap his slippers on the floor so that the on edge man can easily track his progress.

"Eliot?" he tries and finally the younger man looks up, his eyes filled with an emotion Nate had never seen, or ever _wanted_ to see in his eyes.

Fear.

"I don't know who I am… all I know if what _you_ tell me. How do I know you and the others aren't the ones who _did this_ to me?" he suddenly explodes, words flying from his mouth in such a rapid pace that Nate has a hard time understanding. His eyes widen at the man's words and has to resist the urge to grab Eliot by the shoulders and shake him, but he knows what is causing these types of thoughts and sighs.

"Alright. You have a doctors appointment in three hours at Boston Medical Center, we'll grab some food in China Town and then head over, alright?" Nate asks and after a minute or two Eliot finally nods, running his good hand through his hair again as Nate stands, intent on coffee and some breakfast.

Boston Medical Center is a huge hospital and after getting lost numerous times Nate and Eliot finally stumbled into the waiting room of the doctor friend Sophie managed to snag the wounded man an appointment with. If Nate really wanted to think about it Sophie knew a great amount of doctors, but un reality he _didn't_ want to think about it. Eliot lowered himself into one of the chairs while Nate went to check them in, suddenly grateful that the Specialist hadn't seen the pretty Med student-judging by her books- sitting behind the desk.

"Doctor Gerald will be with you in a few, please have a seat." She smiles in a way only the effortlessly good people can and quickly moves to sit beside the Hitter. Eliot's face is beaded with sweat and pale, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain. Nate watches silently for a moment before allowing his gaze to shift around at the other patrons. Numerous elderly, a few middle aged but none of them look half as bad as the man beside him.

"W-who is this guy?" Eliot breathes, a hand pressed to his ribs as he tries to straighten from his slumped position. Nate ignores the question, truly not knowing the answer beyond 'he's an acquaintance of Sophie's' and quickly voices one of his own.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to go to your place after this? From the look of you at the moment your about ready to fall asleep." Nate states and the vicious look in the single visible blue eye makes the Mastermind mentally twitch.

"I'll be fine. Just have to rest." He trails off as a male nurse emerges from behind the office doors, a clipboard held in his hand.

"Cameron, Eliot?" Nate raises his hand and the man moves quickly to help but Eliot waves him away, determined to get himself to his feet without help.

He makes it.

Barely.

Nate rolls his eyes at the man's stubborn streak but follows the nurse and the Hitter into the small room, listening intently as Eliot lists off his injuries. Within minutes the nurse has everything typed into the computer and has already taken the blood pressure and other measurements before quickly exiting.

"Good job on not killing him." Nate chirps happily from his seat on the chair and Eliot gives a shallow laugh.

"See? I can play well with others." He remarks, a hint of the former Eliot coming out in the smile.

"Sometimes." He adds as an after thought but quickly quiets down as his ribs protest.

Nate shakes his head and leans back, waiting for the doctor, his own musings making him smile slightly.

Gerard didn't have much more else to say really, other than to keep doing what they were doing and to come back in another two weeks. After a quick wheel chair ride in which Eliot cursed and bitched the entire way the two men were seated at a small Authentic Chinese joint just a few streets over from BMC. Eliot sipped on his steaming cup of tea, having orderd in flawless Chinese, surprising himself, Nate and the waiter before falling into silence. Nate watches the hustle and bustle of the mid afternoon traffic.

"what can you tell me… about before all this?" Eliot suddenly asks, keeping his voice low. Nate blinks for a moment, shock leaving him speechless. Eliot watches him closely, blue eyes wary but expectant.

" Well, you have been a Retrieval Specialist since the late 1990's, there's little known beyond your career actually." Nate informs the man, watching his face. Eliot is silent and drawn as he sips his tea once more, cup trembling in his grip.

"That's why you want to go back to your apartment isn't it? See if being there will spark something." Nate remarks, giving the man a pointed look that makes him shift and glare back.

"Yeah Nate, I'm sorry if my wanting to remember something is putting a crimp in your day." Eliot snaps, mistaking the look. Nate holds up his hands and glances around, aware of the number of ears that could be listening in and leans in, lowering his voice.

"It's not that Eliot, trust me. We all-the team and I- want to see you regain your memories, you have to believe us but I don't know what will come of rushing them into returning." Nate admits in a low tone, watching the man's eyes as he anylizes his words. If it was one of the many things Eliot is good at it's the judgment of people. Nate has never met a man who can clearly _sense_ whether or not someone is a threat or not but knows that I's a learned instinct.

"it's frustratin'" he growls, running a hand through his hair in an action that has become almost like a nervous tick. Nate frowns, watching as Eliot displays more of a scared demeaner and slowly nods.

"I know it is and I understand that but what do you think will come out of jarring your memories into coming back? You might not come back to the _now_ completely and with your skill level that could be devastating. Eliot I _know_ you were a different person than what the team sees, I've read the files, I've seen your handiwork. What happens if you remember something and mistake one of the team?" Nate states firmly, bringing into light his fears and notices the slight widening of Eliot's eyes.

"Yeah, I know about your kill list and the multiple scenes you left behind when you were forced to fight your way out." Nate presses firmly, leaning back as the waitress brings their meals. Eliot stares down at his hands for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"I would never harm any of you…" he trails off, bringing his eyes up tp meet Nate's grim ones.

"Can you promise that?" he asks and Eliot's head drops back down.

The two men eat in silence.

**Author Note: **Yeah, it's short. Not exactly sure on how to continue from here. If anyone would like to suggest something please do. Next week I am going down to a college in NJ to speak to the admins there, I am leaving Friday morning and returning Sunday afternoon sometime, so there won't be an update.


	15. Chapter 15

**Title**: The Retrieval Job

**Rating**: T+

**Feedback**: welcomed

**Summary: **The team takes on the hardest job they've ever had, retrieving one of their own. But who do you turn too, when it's your Retrieval Specialist that's in need of rescuing?

**Author Note: Yay for season 3! **Although I really didn't like the season premier, but that could also be because I **MISSED IT**. I'm back to working with horses and as such have taken up working horse shows and the last show ended on Sunday and while the trucker who hauls our horses and gear was supposed to be at the fair grounds for 6, he didn't get there till 8:30! Figure 1 hr load time, 2 hr drive home, 1 hr unload time. Complete insanity.

But, I am sorry to have kept everyone waiting for this update but life has been hectic. I was accepted into the college I applied too and am now finalizing that and of course working and making chain maille jewelry to help add some income. Insanity!

**Chapter 15: It all started….

* * *

**

They were sitting in Nate's apartment, gathered around the TV monolith watching _Lock Up: Abroad_ a show in which the group of theives often pick apart the 'innocent' person's story, supplying with almost chilling detail how they would have all done it a different way. It's something Nate had gotten use too listening too as he watched the re-enacted stories play out, turning an ear to listen to Parker's rants about how stupid the person was and how she'd of handled the situation.

"See? Right there? She could have used that to pull herself up onto the roof and them shimmied down the drain pipe." Parker announces around a mouth full of popcorn. Sophie, seated beside Nate only rolls her eyes and sighs, gesturing towards the TV with a nail polish brush.

"Parker, the girl is six months pregnant. That only thing she's shimming is that prison garb." She states before turning back to manicuring her nails. Nate watches for a moment, shocked to see the woman doing her own nails but doesn't comment. Hardison laughs at the cheesy tehcnology being show on the screen and points, shaking his head before fixing his attention back onto the lap top in front of him. Nate will often comment on how the system is done in the mentioned countries and how families should have handled the paperwork, his words often falling on the 'law deaf' ears of his companions. Eliot would usually make comments on the weapons and sometimes the reasons behind certain lack of prisoner's rights.

But not tonight.

Tonight the fighter is sitting rigidly in the chair, his fingers splayed out on his knees as his blue eyes track the people on the screen. Nate watches the man from the corner of his eye, watching the thin lines around his mouth grow deeper as the story progresses. As the show comes to an end the blue eyes harden a fraction as the prison's name is announced.

"I've been there." He suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. His eyes have grown far away and take on a chilling edge.

"Was there for fifteen days…" he trails off, eyes still far away while Nathan scoots up from his seat, ready to intervien in case the memories become too much and the man becomes violent. But he doesn't, his chest moves up and down as he breathes evenly.

"Had been caught trying to lift several masks for a collector, fucker had top notch security and a Wailer, thing screwed me up. Couldn't hear right for a week." He smirks then and snorts, his blue eyes watering slightly.

"Watched a little boy, only about tweleve get his hands chopped off for stealing. Watched a woman give birth in her dirt cell only to bleed to death while her baby cried. That baby lived for a day after his mother died, they left the carcases inside to rot." He takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head.

"Eliot?" Nate says softly, drawing the man's attention to him.

"Yeah, I remember." He whispers back and winces as Parker whoops loudly, leaping to her feet and approaching him in order to give the man a happy punch in the arm, her newest way to show affection, but the man quickly shies away, catching the small fist in his scarred hand.

"No, not all of it. But… that I remember and some other times…" he smiles slightly. "Maybe I'll remember more things soon."

"That's the right way to think Eliot, stay posative." Sophie states reassuringly while Parker nods enthusiastically. Eliot's small smile is the only response for that night.

Over the next few days Eliot's mind continued to supply memories are random times, sometimes stopping the man in his tracks to stare ahead blankly. One terrifying time at the local shopping center in which Eliot shut down while the team was on an escelator forced the team to rethink their treatment of the fragile minded man. It wasn't until a stormy night five days after the first memory that Nate found Eliot sketching madly on a legal pad in the dark of his apartment. Nate watches the man for several minutes from the spiral staircase and frowns as the man mutters to himself, his good hand flying awkwardly over the lines, adding information in a barely legible scrawl. Long hair hangs to the side of his face, masking the man's expression from Nate.

"I… that makes no sense." Eliot suddenly snaps, throwing the writing utensil from his hand and Nate winces as it bings off the polished wooden floor and rolls hastily away somewhere.

"Eliot?" Nate starts, causing the other man to jump and spin in the chair, a flash of pain screwing up the fighter's features as his casted arm presses protectivly to his still damamged ribs.

"What's this?" Nate asks as he moves slowly towards the table, his head jerk gesturing to the legal pad decorated with scrawls and dates, locations and a small list of injuries. Eliot's usually steady blue gaze is skirting around, his instincts forcing his mind and body into a jittery frenzy, paranoia and suspicion snapping like lightning in his eyes. Nate waits patiently as the electric blue eyes snap to the shadows in the apartment, scanning for any enemies whenever the lighting flashes over the harbor outside.

"I keep remembering w-which I know is a good thing but…" he trails off and looks down at his hands before curling the uncasted one into a tight fist and then uncurling it as he exhales. " there are some things I think I was better off _not_ remembering." He concludes shakily. Nate frowns and ponders for a moment the man's words, knowing full well that the things Eliot keeps wedged so far down, behind the southern drawl and arctic blue eyes are not good things, not pleasant memories or fond moments he often thinks of.

No.

The things Eliot keeps locked away in his mind aren't for the weak kneed if the memories of the jobs written down in his ledger are any indication.

"Listen Eliot, would you rather not remember everything and one day, while we're on a job run into someone who could harm us? The team?" Nate reasons gently, knowing the fighter's determination to protect the others from as much bad things as he can. Eliot's blue eyes flash for a moment and then narrow dangerously.

"No." he snarls in a particuraly alarming way before shoving himself to his feet. Nate scrmables a few steps back, giving the fighter room to move and breathe but the fighter only stands in front of the window facing the storm tossed harbor, the dirty brown water being battered against the warf supports as lightning flashes.

"I'm tired Nate." He admits after several moments of silence, his expression fallen and miserable as it reflects off the window pane. Nate, who had been watching the fighter struggle for days to allow his aching body to rest and to reset his mind can only nod.

"I can give you something…" he trails off, having remembered just as the words were coming out how much Eliot dispises anything that might take away his edge, dull the reptile quick reflexes he prides himself on, that have kept him alive.

"I just need to sleep. That's all." He states softly and oves away from the window, his steps unsteady as he negotiates the dark apartment, heading for the leather couch and the sleeping bag Parker had stolen for him from Dick's a while back. Nate quickly moves to the kitchen and pours two shot glasses of the sternest stuff he's got.

"How about a little night cap? Something to take the edge off?" Nate asks as he eases the cabinate above the sink open and selects one of the many pill bottles, scanning the lable before depositing one of the pale blue pills into one of the glasses. He's about to recap the bottle when a frown crosses his face then quickly adds two more. Easing the cabinate closed the Mastermind usues his finger to swish the melting pills around and once completely dissovlved he adds a little Vodka to the brew.

"Alright. Here." Nate gestures, holding out the small shot class of liquer to the injured fighter, making sure to keep his face expressionless as Eliot downs the shot and makes a face, hoping that it's the Vodka that caught the experienced drinker by surprise, not the pills.

"Damn." He mutters, voice husky and low, eyes blinking rapidly.

"not bad huh?" Nate asks, downing his own shot, also wincing at the burn of the clear liquer and the sharp bite of the sipping whiskey.

"Yeah not bad." Eliot echoes, his body relaxing into the couch as Nate watches, slightly alarmed at how quickly the effects are taking hold of the man but therorizes that his own exhaustion coupled with the pills are acting together to pull the fighter under.

"Get some sleep Eliot, we'll figure this out in the morning." Nate states and grabs the shot glass before it can fall from the fighter's lax grip. Standing Nate shakes his head and gently moves Eliot till he is laying down lengthwise on the couch and covering him with the thick sleeping bag. Nodding to himself the Mastermind drops the glasses into his sink and heads for the spiral staircase, pausing midstride by the table.

"A broken man with baggage is a man with a foreseeable future of change." He states softly, picking up the timeline and glancing over at the couch before folding the paper and slipping back up the steps to his bed.

* * *

The next morning found the team sitting in various places around Nate's apartment, their attention on separate tasks while Eliot continues to sleep on the couch, his plastered arm propped up the table Parker had moved over to support the injured limb. Having kicked his covers off during the night a naked and tattooed leg sticks out from under the bright throw blanket Sophie deposited over the fighter's torso and tucked lovingly under his chin while Tara thought ahead to bring another set of clean clothes from Eliot's apartment. Hardison types away at his laptop, sitting closer to the fighter due to the location of the coffeetable.

"Uh oh." He utters and curses softly, his fingers flying over the keys.

"Hardison your warrior Mage had best just died or something." Nate barks from his desk, standing and moving quickly to where the Hacker is sitting, careful not to wake the sleeping fighter.

"Oh you wish. No, seems Celik has gotten intel on where his prized posession might have gone. His passport was just dinged by the Turkish embassy in the States." He explains as the mood in the apartment goes from 'content' to 'apprehensive' in a split second.

"Dun dun, dun dun…" Everyone looks over at Parker, sitting on Nate's dining table. Her head cocks to the side.

"what?"

Author Note: I do not know when the next update will be due to my leaving for a horse show in 4 days and working those 4 days, so please stay tuned. Can I just say.. Having your bathroom remodeled sucks ass when you _really_ have to pee and want to shower?


End file.
